The Consequences of Sacrifice-Drabble Series
by Peaceful Defender
Summary: Back by request, this is a spin-off series from "The Meaning of Sacrifice" universe. Current drabble-Family Ties Part Four (Last Part of Drabble)-Clarky learns that his cousin, Irene Adler, has a relationship with Sherlock, as well as the fact that Mycroft Holmes plans to send Irene on an undercover mission involving some of Moriarty's former rivals. What happens? Enjoy!
1. Consequences of Sacrifice-Prologue

**The Consequences of Sacrifice**

* * *

**Author's note:**

**Peaceful Defender-**Hello everyone! I'm _back!_

First of all, I want to thank everyone who read my story 'The Meaning of Sacrifice' (the first one I ever published for any audience). Your comments mean so much to me, and they inspired this series of dabbles.

I am currently trying my hand at another story, with new characters and a new storyline, but I sometimes hit a brick wall when it comes to inspiration.

Also, my characters from my story 'The Meaning of Sacrifice' just won't leave me alone!

Currently, they have me chained to my chair and are demanding more stories from me. Apparently, I have to write drabbles until they are satisfied or until I die. Whichever comes first. Basically, I am writing these series of dabbles under duress!

If anyone out there could please call 911, 999, or the equivalent rescue number and please convince someone to send help to me, as my imaginary characters have _kidnapped_ me, I would be exceedingly grateful!

(Yeah, I know. That sounded pretty dumb.)

**OC Chase Douglas**-"Ha! Like anyone is going to do that! More than likely they will call an insane asylum to come pick you up! And then what will you do?"

**Peaceful Defender (glares at OC Chase Douglas**)-"Well, if _I_ go, then _you_ guys will end up going with me!"

**(original character Edward Clarkson [a.k.a. "Clarky"] points gun in Peaceful Defender's direction)**

**Peaceful Defender**-"Ok, ok! _Sorry!_ Now, where was I? Oh, yes. In order to understand these stories, you will probably have to read "The Meaning of Sacrifice."

**O.C. Clarky-**"That's _crazy_, Peaceful Defender! Who makes people read a 200,000 plus word story just to understand your attempts at dabbles!? You know what, I think you are just trying to get more people to read your story!"

**(Peaceful Defender grins sheepishly)**

**O.C. Clarky-**"Yeah, I thought so!"

**Peaceful Defender (sighs in defeat)-"**Fine! Ok, real quick summary for those of you who haven't read 'The Meaning of Sacrifice.' Well, here's the back story! A global movement, lead by a group of people known as the 'Sherlockians' team up with members of FanFiction to spread the truth about what really happened during the Reichenbach Fall. The end result is that Sherlock's name is cleared..."

**O.C. Chase Douglas-"**Thanks in large part to _me!_ Chase Douglas, a.k.a. C.D. Hottie! Computer hacker, FanFiction member, and overall God's gift to women! I also work for the DMP!"

**Peaceful Defender** **(whispers to readers)-**"DMP stands for 'Demented Mary Poppins,' which is Chase's nickname for Mycroft. Don't ask, but Chase has a _serious_ case of hero-worship when it comes to Mycroft. _Scary_, I know! Oh, and when Chase gets too much coffee, watch out! He sings non-stop! And that part about him being God's gift to women? _Debatable!"_

**O.C. Chase Douglas**-"I _heard_ that!"

**Peaceful Defender growls.**

**O.C. Chase Douglas (backing away)-**"What was _that_ for?"

**Peaceful Defender**-"You mean besides the fact that you and Clarky have me tied to a chair!? Or the fact that I am forced to interact with you guys _again_, and you are all _fictional!?"_

**O.C. Clarky**-"What's your point?"

**Peaceful Defender**-"Do you want me to get back to the story or not!?"

**O.C. Chase Douglas**-"Sorry! Sorry! Go ahead!"

**Peaceful Defender**-"_Thank you!_ Now, back to my summary...Anyway, after the truth comes out, John, members of the Yard, Mycroft, and others join forces to take out Moriarty's empire once and for all. During the course of their work, it is revealed that Moriarty is alive. His empire is under attack already from an unknown party. Moriarty believes that it is the work of his younger sister, Danielle Morray."

"As time goes on, more of Danielle's background is revealed. Besides being Moriarty's younger sister and a member of a family who worked in the criminal underworld, Danielle was also a world-class hacker capable of taking down any security system in the world. She operated under the code name 'Delphi.'"

**O.C. Chase Douglas**-"Yeah! She's a legend!"

**Peaceful Defender**-"_Chase!"_

**O.C. Chase Douglas**-"Sorry! Shutting up now!"

**Peaceful Defender**-"Anyway, it turns out that Sherlock and Danielle met each other while Danielle was on the run from Moriarty, who wanted to kill her. This was during Sherlock's infamous 'drug use' days..."

**O.C. Chase Douglas**-"Oh, yeah! And they end up with a kid! Sheridan! My fellow hacker and occasional partner in crime..."

**Peaceful Defender**-"CHASE!"

**O.C. Chase Douglas (looking confused)-**"What?"

**Peaceful Defender (turning her attention back to O.C. Clarky)-**"Explain to me again why you have _me_ tied up, when _Chase_ is being the annoying one?!"

**O.C. Clarky (shrugs)**-"Technically, you are our creator. And you been ignoring us. I mean, it has been a year! A _year_, Peaceful Defender! So we had to take matters into our own hands!"

**Peaceful Defender (wondering whether she should feel honored or annoyed)**-"Well... anyway, before I was so _rudely interrupted_**_.._.(turns to glare at O.C. Chase Douglas, who seems oblivious to the fact that his life might be in peril)** I was just explaining that Sherlock has a daughter, whom he only found out about after the Fall. He brings her with him on his quest to tear down Moriarty's empire, because Moriarty is after her. Sheridan, whose code name is 'Chimera,' is an eight year old girl who inherited Sherlock's looks and observation skills, as well as her mother's attitude and computer skills..."

**O.C. Chase Douglas**-"Oh, _yes!_ And Moriarty wanted her, because she was a child that he could train to be the ultimate hacker! His own personal 'binary code!' His ticket to get into any security system! He didn't know Sheridan's dad was Sherlock, though! Man, you'd think the evil genius would have bothered to look that up somewhere!"

**Peaceful Defender (sighing in defeat)-**"If you _recall_, Chase, _no one_ knew about Sheridan! Not even Mycroft!"

**O.C. Chase Douglas**-"Yeah! How about that?! Poor DMP!"

**O.C. Clarky**-"If you think _that_ was bad, you should have been there when my colleagues at the Yard found out!"

**Peaceful Defender (looking at Clarky)-**"Oh, right! Everyone not familiar with 'The Meaning of Sacrifice' universe, this is Clarky. He is a forensic pathologist who joined with the Yard. He's from Tennessee, which is my home state, and he originally worked at the Body Farm. Thus, he is crazy. Oh, and did I mention that he likes to make out with Molly?"

**O.C. Chase Douglas**-"What's wrong with that? They _are_ a couple!"

**Peaceful Defender**-"Did I mention that they were once caught kissing in the morgue?"

**O.C. Chase Douglas**-"_Eww!"_

**O.C. Clarky**-"What's wrong with that?"

**Peaceful Defender**-"You mean besides the fact that you are _crazy?"_

**O.C. Clarky**-"Wait a minute! I am a _fictional character!_ Created by _you!_ So is Chase, for that matter! If _we_ are crazy, it is only because _you_ are!"

**Peaceful Defender**-"Well, I _am_ an attorney..."

**O.C. Chase Douglas**-"Enough said!"

**Peaceful Defender**-"Ok, I can't give up any more of the story, because it would completely ruin the plot! But for anyone who hasn't read it, please give it a try! And please give this series a chance too!"

**O.C. Chase Douglas**-"Yeah! Please do! Peaceful Defender is starting to have sleepless nights again, and instead of tossing and turning in bed like any normal person, she writes stories for FanFiction!"

**Peaceful Defender**-"So do you!"

**O.C. Chase Douglas**-"This is why you need to publish a few of your stories, Peaceful Defender! Trust me! FanFiction needs to see more of _me!"_

**Peaceful Defender (Rolling her eyes)-**"What did I do to deserve this?"

**O.C. Clarky**-"Uh, you went to law school?"

**Peaceful Defender (nodding)**-"Good point. Ok. Enough wasting time. These dabbles will deal mostly with the aftermath of 'The Meaning of Sacrifice' and will be updated whenever inspiration hits me. Some will be one shots, some will be multi-chaptered. Angst, drama, action, mystery. But mostly humor. I love humor!"

**O.C. Chase Douglas**-"Aren't we _forgetting_ something, Peaceful Defender?"

**Peaceful Defender**-"Right! These stories are rated 'T' for teens. Some of them will contain some minor cussing, suggestive language, blood and body parts, and so on. I am also American, by the way. So please forgive the Americanisms that come out. I am not from Britain, and I know 'Sherlock' is a British show. So please forgive me in advance."

**O.C. Clarky**-"Anything _else?"_

**Peaceful Defender (shrugging)-**"I retain the right to do these pointless commentaries with my fictional characters because I can?"

**O.C. Clarky**-"Don't forget the _disclaimer!"_

**Peaceful Defender (scowling)**-"I also don't own the show 'Sherlock' or any of its characters! And if I forget to publish this disclaimer for every chapter, this disclaimer is meant to represent my lack of ownership of anything and everything concerning the "Sherlock" show and should be applied to all of my dabbles! **(Growls)** _There!_ Are you happy _now?!"_

**O.C. Clarky**-"I will be if you post a story soon!"

**Peaceful Defender**-"As soon as I am finished talking to you, I will!"

**O.C. Clarky**-"Good! Because we are not letting you go until we get a certain number of reviews!"

**Peaceful Defender**-"How many are we talking about, exactly?"

**O.C. Chase Douglas**-"That's a surprise!"

**Peaceful Defender (sighing in defeat)-"**Sometimes I wonder why I get up in the mornings! Why do these things happen to me!?"

**O.C. Clarky**-"Uh, because you are a lawyer?"

**Peaceful Defender**-?

**O.C. Chase Douglas**-"Do we really have to spell it out to you? Man, this is like giving the TALK to the DMP!"

**Peaceful Defender**-"_And_...on that wonderful note, if any of you have a bit of mercy in your hearts for me, despite my career choice, please write a review if you like any of these drabbles, or I may _never_ get away from these maniacs!

**OC Clarky**-"Maniacs that came directly from _your_ mind!"

**Peaceful Defender (sobbing)-"**I _know!"_

* * *

**Well, that was...weird? How many of you writers feel that your characters refuse to cooperate and make you feel that you are being held hostage to their will? Yeah, that's how I feel right now.**

**Anyway, I am posting my first multi-chapter drabble up now. As always, reviews and suggestions are welcomed.**


	2. Crime Scene at Baker Street-Part 1

**Crime Scene at Baker Street (Part One)**

* * *

_**Prompt: Sherlock and his daughter Sheridan are left completely alone at Baker Street. Without any supervision.**_

_**What's the worst that can happen?**_

* * *

"Sherlock! Sheridan!" John called out once he finally managed to open the front door while still carrying his luggage. "I'm home! _Hello?"_

No answer.

_ Well, what did you expect, John? That Sheridan and Sherlock would come racing down the stairs to greet you?_ John reflected humorously.

_ Well, __Sheridan__ might, but Sherlock would prefer that you come up the stair to greet him, and then listen politely as he bemoans the stupidity of the criminal underworld and just how bored he has been. _

_ And then he will ask for you to go out and buy the milk! _

Despite his outward nonchalance, John was secretly uneasy, although he could not fathom why.

_Ok, maybe he could. Sherlock was actually left without supervision for several days, and he spent the last few nights worrying what he would do._

* * *

For the last week, John had been at a medical conference in Bristol, while Mary was visiting her family in Sussex.

And every day, he expected that someone would call to tell him that the two geniuses had (A) blown up the flat, (B) caused havoc at a crime scene, (C) engaged in plots to drive Mycroft to the point of insanity, or (D) a combination of the aforementioned scenarios.

But surprisingly, no one had called.

Not even Mrs. Hudson.

Although _that_ wasn't surprising, considering she was absent from the flat as well.

* * *

John chuckled to himself as he recalled the events two weeks ago, when Mrs. Hudson (their landlady but not housekeeper) announced that she was going to see her sister, thus leaving the flat empty but for Sherlock and Sheridan. She ignored Sherlock's stare and Sheridan's giggles, as well as John's smirk when she made her announcement.

It was already a poorly concealed "secret" that Mrs. Hudson had garnered the attention of one of the new neighbors, a widower by the name of Franklin Smithson. He lavished quite a bit of affection on Mrs. Hudson, which eventually got him "kidnapped" by a certain British government official.

For once in his life, Sherlock wholeheartedly applauded Mycroft's actions.

Yet despite the fact that Smithson had already endured the usual terrors that most people who lived anywhere near the vicinity of 221B Baker Street usually suffered (loud violin music at three in the morning, a certain lanky consulting detective coming in and out of the flat carrying body parts, etc.), he still stayed around. Further, he endured the overprotectiveness of Mrs. Hudson's "boys" as well as a government-sanctioned kidnapping with remarkable patience and good humor.

So it seemed as though Mr. Smithson was here to stay.

At least until Sherlock and Mycroft devised some sort of way to get rid of him without Ms. Hudson knowing.

Personally, John admired the man's courage. It wasn't many people who were able to stand up to the combined horror of the Holmes brothers and have actually lived to tell the tale.

It therefore came as no surprise to anyone that the same day that Mrs. Hudson left to "visit her sister," Mr. Smithson was leaving as well to go on a trip to Paris.

His mistake, as Sherlock pointed out, was that he was carrying passports for _two._

Sheridan, whom Sherlock had spoiled completely and who couldn't resist some playful teasing of her own, politely asked if Mrs. Hudson could bring her back something from the gift shop at the _Musée du Louvre_, much to Mrs. Hudson's sputtering denials.

But it wasn't Mrs. Hudson's actual destination that weighed heavily at the back of John's mind throughout the conference.

Rather, it was the fact that the flat on Baker Street was empty but for Sherlock and his young daughter, Sheridan.

* * *

John was obviously reluctant to leave them alone (Sherlock's notoriety notwithstanding). And he made it clear on no-uncertain terms the day he left.

"Sherlock, who's going to make you _eat?! _ And what if you blow up the flat?!"

Sherlock had rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Honestly, John! I survived many years without you! Do you really think I am incapable of surviving _two weeks?_ I'll do some cases, Sheridan will go to school, and on occasion we will engage in suitable father-daughter activities. We'll be fine!"

"You do realize, of course, that _suitable father-daughter activities_ include walks in the park and playing board games, not trips to the morgue and stake-outs?" John muttered, staring at Sherlock warningly.

Sherlock smirked. "Give me a mediocre of credit, John! I know what I am doing!"

John had his doubts, but he brushed them off regardless. Just before he left, however, he called Mycroft and asked him to set up surveillance at the flat, just in case.

_That_ particular conversation did not end well.

At the suggestion that he put Sherlock under a "discrete" twenty-four hour watch, Mycroft merely raised his eyebrows in mild surprise, as though John was asking for permission to use Buckingham Palace for a stag party.

"I would be happy to, John. However, that may prove much more difficult that you would imagine."

"_Oh?_" John asked, his blue eyes narrowing in confusion. "You have certainly never worried about violating our privacy before."

Mycroft chuckled benignly. "You have forgotten Sherlock's new weapon against my attempts to watch over him, John. Believe me, my niece is _very_ resourceful."

John shook his head as he realized that Mycroft was right.

_ Of course. How could he forget? _

After all, Sheridan was a world-class hacker, even at the tender age of eight. And like her mother before her, she had no qualms about turning off the CCTV systems whenever it suited her.

"Do not be so alarmed, John." Mycroft comforted him. "Sherlock has proven to my satisfaction that he can take care of himself for a few weeks. If he was on his own, I would shudder at the possibilities. However, he has become quite responsible as to the welfare of his daughter."

John had to admit _that_ was true. Before Sherlock came back from his hiatus, no one would have thought him capable of keeping a gold fish alive for a week, much less caring for and raising a child.

However, Sherlock had proven, much to everyone's surprise, that he was a very capable father and role model to his young daughter, Sheridan.

Of course, _Sheridan_ was a bit of a surprise to everyone. She was the result of a one-night encounter between Sherlock and a runaway living on the streets named Danielle Morray, who also happened to be the sister of James Moriarty.

John was still trying to wrap his head around _that_ revelation.

_ Who would have thought that long before the two mad geniuses spared off, one of them would actually be having a relationship with the other one's sister?_

It was just too bizarre to even try to figure out.

Still, it wasn't as though Danielle Morray was like Moriarty, in looks or in personality. Years before John had even met Sherlock, Danielle had fled from her brother and chose to hide in London. For security purposes, she hacked into the CCTV system and turned off all surveillance to keep herself from being found.

One night, she had met Sherlock, and for several months the two outcasts lived on the streets, each one fascinated by the other's skills.

The fascination eventually turned into respect, and something akin to friendship, although Sherlock would _never _admit it.

However, whatever relationship that Sherlock and Danielle were meant to have was interrupted by the arrival of Moriarty's men, who had finally tracked Danielle to London.

Regardless of the fact that Sherlock was unsure as to the extent of his "feelings" towards Danielle, it was enough for him to actually convinced Mycroft to send Danielle overseas in an attempt to flee her brother's wrath.

Little did either of them know it at the time, but the one night that Sherlock and Danielle spent together actually resulted in Danielle becoming pregnant.

The irony that Moriarty and Sherlock were technically related (by virtue of Sheridan being Sherlock's daughter as well as Moriarty's niece) was not lost to John, but he wisely chose not to comment on it.

But Sheridan was a surprise to Sherlock as well, as he was completely unaware of her existence. It wasn't until just after the incident at St. Bart's hospital, when Sherlock was going after Moriarty's web, that he received a letter from Danielle, who had tragically met her end after a long battle with cancer.

Upon her death, she had left Sherlock with control of her own little empire, considerable financial resources, and a network that was dedicated to ending the threat that was Moriarty.

She had also left him with a seven-year old girl with no one else to care for her.

So when Sheridan had eventually shown up on Baker Street some time later and revealed who she was, it was enough to cause quite the sensation at the Yard. All the more so because she was healthy and reasonably well-adjusted, despite the odd "Holmes" habits she had picked up over time.

And _after_ she revealed to anyone within earshot how good her "dad" was to her?

_ Well, let's just say that Sherlock's reputation as a high-functioning sociopath was forever shattered. _

Still, the idea of _two_ Holmes alone in Baker Street was enough to keep John up at night, and he was glad that he was able to leave the medical conference several days earlier than he anticipated.

* * *

The sight of Baker Street, still in one piece, was enough to temporarily assuage John's fears the minute he saw it come to view. With no evidence of property damage, crime scene tape, obnoxious odors, and anything that seemed suspicious, it looked as though his anxiety was unfounded.

As it _was_ the weekend, he knew Sheridan was not in school, so he was not overly alarmed when neither of them rushed down to greet him.

At least, not really.

_ Perhaps Sherlock took Sheridan to Hyde Park so she could practice on her inherited "induction" abilities that seemed to run in the Holmes family. Or perhaps they went to visit Lestrade and the Yarders. _

_ Still, it wouldn't hurt to go upstairs to check._

* * *

"Sherlock?" John called out while he knocked on the door of 221 B. "Sheridan? Are you two in? I got back early, and I thought you two may want to order out. Maybe at Angelo's."

No answer. The silence hung heavy in the air, almost oppressive.

"_Sherlock? Sheridan?" _ John called again.

Still no answer.

Frowning, John reached for the handle, inwardly berating himself for his actions. After all the time he spent berating Sherlock for his lack of boundaries, and yet here he was, about to break into Sherlock's flat.

The doorknob turned easily, and the door clicked open.

And John stepped inside.

* * *

The first thing he saw was color.

No! Not _colors_, but one color!

_ Crimson. _

As in _blood red._

And it was all over the main sitting room.

John stood there, gaping, as he took in the scene in front of him. Everything was streaked or stained with blood.

The carpet, the drapes (conveniently pulled together), the four different wallpapers, and even the mantel piece, where the two skulls (one belonging to Sherlock, and the other belonging to Sheridan), were grinning back at him from underneath a film of drying blood.

"SHERLOCK! SHERIDAN!"

Gasping, John raced into the flat, nearly tripping on a pipe that was left on the floor for some obscure reason. He ran into Sherlock's bedroom, finding it to be in pristine condition, without any trace of blood or violence. He then ran up to Sheridan's bedroom and found it in a similar state.

The bathroom, on the other hand, showed evidence of a possible cleanup.

In one corner of the room, in a clothes hamper, were several damp towels, streaked in red. Several clothes were in there as well, including Sherlock's favorite purple shirt, which was literally encrusted in blood to the fact that it was stiff. The shower had been used recently, as evidenced by the water still dripping from the faucet.

But by far the most disturbing thing he saw was the presence of a _chainsaw_, wiped clean, sitting unobtusely beside the clothes hamper.

John had seen enough.

Rushing from the room, he raced downstairs to grab his mobile to contact the Met.

* * *

**Author's note: Wow! I started off with a bang, didn't I?**

**Sorry about the choppiness of the chapter. I know most of it was flashbacks and stuff, and I hope I did ok on it. **

**So, what happened to Sheridan and Sherlock? Are they still alive? And what happened!?**

**John Watson-"**Peaceful Defender, are you _trying_ to kill me!?"

**Peaceful Defender (rolling her eyes in dismay)-"**I post one lousy chapter and already you are complaining!? What do you expect, John? A chapter with you relaxing on a beach somewhere?"

**Mary Watson**-"That would be nice, actually."

**Peaceful Defender**-"Well, I hate to break it to you, but the readers want a little drama! And the fact that Sherlock and Sheridan are missing...

**John Watson-"**_Missing!? _There is _blood_ all over the flat! And _weapons! _ I have seen battle zones less chaotic than that! So where is Sherlock and Sheri!?"

**John Watson**_-"_Peaceful Defender, somehow I seriously doubt that these lovely readers want to read about how you _killed_ off Sherlock and his daughter in the first chapter!"

**Peaceful Defender**-"Calm down! Maybe I will have you rescue them. Or maybe not. It depends on my muse. And whether I get reviews or not."

**Mary Watson**-"Already begging for reviews, aren't we?"

**Peaceful Defender (smirking)-"**Why not? Besides, I want to see if any of the readers can guess what happened to Sheridan and Sherlock."


	3. Crime Scene at Baker Street-Part 2

**The Consequences of Sacrifice-Crime Scene at Baker Street (Part ****Two)**

* * *

**Recap: John returns early from a medical conference to discover that Sherlock and his young daughter Sheridan are missing from 221 B, and that the flat has evidence of foul play.**

**Will Sherlock And Sheridan be found in time? And who took them in the first place?**

**Author's note: To those who have never read "The Meaning of Sacrifice," Clarky is an original character and Molly's love interest (sorry, Sherlolly fans). To sum up Clarky in as few words as possible, he is an American from Knoxville Tennessee, has a hidden gun arsenal that even Mycroft has trouble keeping up with, is one of the few people who actually thinks it is ok to have body parts in the fridge (He worked at the Body Farm as a forensic pathologist), has a tendency to call people nicknames, and actually likes working with Sherlock.**

**In other words, Clarky is one cerifiable nutter!**

**And a huge thank-you to Scottish Bluebell for the reviews! I hope you like this chapter!**

* * *

"Oh _bloody hell!_" Anderson whispered as he looked around at the horrific scene about two hours later.

This was supposed to be Anderson's day off. He shouldn't be here.

And yet here he was, visiting the Freak's house to investigate his probable murder.

Not only _his_ murder, but also that of little Freak Spawn (a.k.a. Sheridan), whom Anderson actually _liked_, despite her father being an absolute prat!

Not a very good day at all, actually.

Oh, it started off ok. He was relaxing at home, watching a rerun of "Doctor Who," when his mobile had suddenly rang.

It was Sally, and she was hysterical.

It took a while to get the full story from her, but apparently John Watson had returned home to find Holmes and his daughter missing, the flat in disarray, and evidence of foul play involved.

For once, Anderson didn't grumble or complain about being called in on his day off. He came right away, prepped to gather evidence and to (hopefully) find out what happened.

He had expected signs of a struggle, of course. Overturned furniture, broken fixtures, maybe even some blood here or there.

_But this went way beyond the usual crime scene!_

Everything was covered, quite literally, with blood. Specks of it stained the curtains, the rug, the two chairs, and the couch. The walls were splattered with bright red droplets, as was the mantel piece and even those stupid skulls!

On the coffee table was what looked to be a board game of some kind. Very likely the Freak and his daughter were probably playing when they were surprised by the assailants. They fought back (hence the blood), and then they were taken away somewhere.

The amount of blood suggested that neither of them were in good shape when they left.

_That is, if they were even alive at all._

_No wonder Sally was so upset on the phone earlier!_

Adding to the gruesome scene were various objects, which were strategically placed all over the room. Someone had already numbered the items by placing various tags on them, and Constable Fredricks was busy taking pictures of the scene.

_A knife, a gun, a rope…_

Beside him, Clarky shuddered, his green eyes wide in alarm. "Oh, _damn!_" He swore, his gaze finally coming to rest on the nearest significant blood stain on the floor. "What kind of psychotic bastard could have done this!?"

"That's what we are here to find out." Anderson muttered, taking a moment to put on a pair of gloves so he would not disturb the crime scene evidence. He and Clarky were already dressed in their white scrubs, ready to process the scene.

"My God!" Inspector Hopkins croaked from behind them. "And no one has heard from Holmes?"

"His mobile is over there. Smashed, according to Donovan." Anderson whispered as he glanced around again until he saw the remnants of Sherlock's phone near the coffee table.

"Where _is_ Sally, anyway?" Clarky asked.

"Downstairs. She had to get out of here, because she became too emotional." Anderson said quietly while giving Clarky a significant look. "She was fond of Freak Spawn, after all."

"_Anderson!_" Hopkins groaned.

"_What?!_ Sheridan already told everyone that she doesn't mind when I call her that!" Anderson protested.

"So what do you think happened here?" Clarky asked as he glanced around.

"They were probably sitting down, playing with that board game over there." Anderson reasoned as he pointed to the coffee table. "They were surprised and attacked. The persons responsible then removed the bod…well, they took the Freak and Sheri with them when they left."

"But how did they leave without a trace?!" Hopkins asked. "There is literally no blood on the stairs! And there is no trace on any of the windows outside!"

"Maybe they cleaned up?" Clarky asked weakly.

"And didn't clean up _here?!"_ Hopkins persisted, gesturing toward the room around him.

Constable Fredrick, who had finished taking his pictures, looked at the trio. "Something else, too. Although that chair over there is overturned, and everything is covered in blood, nothing else seems to be disturbed. I mean, where is the property damage?"

Hopkins nodded approvingly.

Anderson groaned. "Fine! So, what is _your_ theory?"

Hopkins sighed as he stepped aside to allow Fredrick to exit the room and head downstairs. "I wish I knew! But a lot of this doesn't add up!"

Clarky nodded. "But _something_ happened here! I mean, last time I checked, Lucky didn't have _another_ super-evil mastermind after him!"

Anderson nodded. "And somehow I doubt the Freak would try to fake his death again! He may be an arse and a psychopath…"

"High functioning sociopath." Clarky corrected his colleague automatically.

"_Whatever!_ But he wouldn't do this to Greg again! Not after last time!" Anderson insisted.

"Is Greg still waiting with John?" Hopkins asked wearily as he glanced around the room.

"Yeah. They are waiting for Lucky's creepy government brother to get here." Clarky explained as he stooped down to glance at the pistol that lay unobtusely near the couch. "Whose gun is this, anyway?"

Hopkins sighed. "Greg bought it for Sherlock as a gag gift for Sherlock for his first Christmas back. It only shoots blanks. Greg thought it would be funny when Sherlock got bored and tried to shoot the walls up again only to find that no bullets would come out. John actually put the tape up on his blog last week."

"Too bad no one thought of getting Lucky a _real_ gun for protection." Clarky said sadly.

"Says the man who owns at least twenty-something guns." Hopkins muttered sarcastically. "You know, you give your country-men a bad name, Clarky!"

"Enough jokes about me being American, Stanley." Clarky retorted half-hearted.

Anderson sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, there was something about all of this that didn't add up.

On one hand, there was blood all over the place and no sign of Holmes or his little girl. On the other hand, despite the chaos of the room, none of the furniture had been violently overturned or damaged, and it bothered him that someone would take the time to spirit two people out of the flat without leaving a trace on the stairs leading out of the flat or out of the windows.

_Nor did it make sense for someone to leave an assortment of weapons lying around on the floor!_

But as Clarky correctly pointed out, Sherlock had no reason to fake his death again. And he would never intentionally do this, even as an elaborate prank, to Greg or the doctor.

And somehow, Anderson doubted that Freak Spawn would willingly try to trick anyone in such a heartless manner, either.

So the only answer was that Sherlock and Sheridan were taken away by force.

But who was behind it? And why would they do such a thing?

_What the bloody hell was going on here!?_

* * *

Suddenly Clarky stood up, a perplexed expression on his face. He sniffed loudly. And then twice more.

Anderson sighed. Of all the Yarders, with the exception of Lestrade, Clarky was the closest to Sherlock. It was only natural that the American would be affected by the fact that the consulting detective may have actually _died_ (for real) this time.

"Clarky, if you are upset, you can go downstairs. No one will think ill of you…"

"I'm not _upset_, Anderson!" Clarky interrupted irritably. "I'm…_thinking!_"

"Well, don't _hurt_ yourself!" Hopkins snarled, impatient with Clarky's outburst. "No need to get impatient with us, you know!"

Clarky ignored Hopkins as though he had said nothing whatsoever. He walked over to the nearest wall and leaned forward. He sniffed the air again.

"What's wrong, Clarky?" Hopkins asked, walking over, his earlier irritation melted away out of concern for his colleague. "Did you find something?"

"I'm not sure…" Clarky said, his voice trailing off as he furrowed his forehead in concentration. He glanced back at Anderson. "Sil, how much blood is in here, do you think?"

"Uh…"Anderson paled, then looked around at the various crimson stains everywhere. "Quite a bit, I would say. I don't watch American horror movies, because they make me sick…"

"There is _too_ much blood in here!" Clarky muttered resolutely. "_Way_ too much! When you calculate the amount of blood that someone of Lucky's height and weight would have, coupled with Sheri's height and weight…"

"So you are saying they _are_ dead?" Hopkins whispered, his brown eyes sorrowful.

_Bugger! How was poor Greg going to be able to handle this?_

"I'm saying there is _too_ much blood in here!" Clarky growled irritably. "Even if you drained Lucky and Sheri of _all _the blood in their bodies, you _still_ wouldn't have this much!"

"Is _this_ what you learned at the Body Farm, Clarky?" Hopkins asked, eying Clarky critically. "Or did you learn it from watching 'Halloween II'?"

"You watch _horror movies?_" Anderson asked Hopkins, his eyebrows raised quizzically.

Hopkins shrugged. "They give me ideas on how the criminal mind works!"

Anderson scowled. "_So_…what does that mean? Are you saying _someone else_ was killed here?"

Clarky didn't answer right away, apparently lost in thought. He sniffed the air again, and then closed his eyes.

"_Clarky?_" Anderson prompted.

"What do you guys smell?" Clarky asked suddenly, opening his eyes and glancing back at his colleagues.

"_Uh_…" Hopkins stammered.

"SMELL THE AIR, STANLEY!" Clarky shouted. "Tell me what you smell!"

Hopkins paled, then tentatively raised his nose up in the air and took a sniff. "_Well_…" Hopkins mumbled, looking fearfully over at Clarky, as though he expected the American to snap at any moment. "I don't smell anything out of the ordinary."

"_Exactly!_" Clarky said triumphantly. "Now, five hundred points to the one who gets this right! What do you expect a room full of blood to smell like?"

"_Blood?_" Anderson ventured hesitantly, as though Clarky had lost his mind.

"_Correct!_" Clarky said, looking over at Anderson as though he was a prized pupil who had just solved a complex math equation while using difficult equations. "Now, I have been to many a crime scene, including some that looked like this!"

"So you are suggesting the killer is _American?_" Anderson ventured, with some sarcasm.

"It makes sense." Hopkins contemplated. "I mean, most Americans like to overdo it…"

"Oh _shut it_, Stanley!" Clarky sighed. "That's _not_ what I meant! What I am trying to say is why are we surrounded in a room covered in blood, but we don't smell it!?"

The silence in the room was so palatable that it could have been cut with a knife.

"He's right!" Hopkins gasped as the realization dawned on him. He inhaled slowly, then exhaled. "Blood is supposed to smell like, _metallic_, or something!"

"Like a handful of coins." Clarky affirmed, taking another step towards the black and beige patterned wallpaper. "At most crime scenes that have a significant amount of blood spilled, you would expect to be able to smell it. But I don't! And neither do you!"

"And what exactly does _that_ mean?" Anderson inquired.

Clarky didn't answer. Instead, he leaned even closer to the wall, until his nose was almost touching it. Cautiously, he inhaled the air again.

And then he licked one of the red stains.

* * *

"What the _hell_, Clarky!? Have you gone completely _mental!?_" Hopkins shrieked.

Clarky backed away from the wall, a slow smile coming across his features. A manic light illuminated his emerald eyes, and he began laughing.

"_Oh my God!_ Clarky has gone _completely_ around the bend!" Anderson squeaked as he raced towards the door, presumably to go get help.

Hopkins tried to follow him, but was quickly pounced on by Clarky, who grabbed Hopkins and pinned his arms to his sides.

Before Hopkins could summon the strength to fight back, he found himself shoved against the wall, his face pressed against the wallpaper and blood splatter.

_Oh bloody hell! Clarky's lost it, and I am touching Sherlock's blood!_

But _nothing_ was more frightening than what Clarky said next.

"Stanley, lick the wall!"

Hopkins felt the fish and chips he had eaten earlier for lunch that day do cartwheels in his stomach, and he resisted the urge to be sick.

_I always knew Clarky was crazy!_

_But this…_

Hopkins managed to turn his horrified face sideways so he could examine Clarky. "Are you _insane_, Clarky!? Just because you have _latent vampiric tendencies_ is no reason for you to try to force your habit on _me!_ I mean, what the…"

"_Stanley!_" Clarky interrupted. "_Listen to me!_ This is not real blood!"

Hopkins' eyes widened in surprise. "_What!?_"

"It's _fake!_" Clarky exclaimed. "It's a mixture of corn syrup, starch, and red food coloring! Smell it, or taste it if you don't believe me!"

Hopkins stopped struggling. "_What_…"

"I recognize it because I was in drama classes all the way through college!" Clarky said triumphantly. He awarded the Detective Inspector with a bemused grin. "We made fake blood all the time! This is not real! Lucky and Sheri may not be dead after all!"

With this pronouncement, Clarky released Hopkins and did what could only be described as a quirky and mercifully short victory dance before he pressed himself to the wall again and proceeded to attack another (blood?) stain with his tongue.

He leaned back and smirked at Hopkins knowingly. "Looks like someone ran out of corn syrup, and decided to make do with some alcohol! I wonder if I'll get drunk if I consume all of this…" Clarky pondered.

Hopkins frowned as he watched his overenthusiastic forensics expert continue to lick the ugly wallpaper with relish, his mind alternating between disgust and hope.

_Was Clarky right?_

Was all of this blood splatter really fake? Were Sherlock and his daughter still alive?

Or had the former Body Farm forensic expert _finally_ lose his grip on reality?

_There was only one way to find out._

Cautiously, Hopkins inched his face to the wall again. He grimaced, then steeled himself and sniffed the stain closest to him.

It smelled faintly sweet. And it _did_ lack the metallic coppery smell one would normally associate with blood.

Hopkins frowned and glanced over back at Clarky, who apparently was so relieved that the carnage they had walked upon was staged that he was thoughtlessly pressing his mouth on various places on the wall. It looked as though he was trying to make out with the hideous wallpaper pattern.

Hopkins scrunched up his face in disgust.

Either Clarky had lost his mental facilities, or he was correct…

_There was only one way to know for certain._

Hopkins tentatively stuck out his tongue and briefly pressed it to the wall, then drew back sharply.

He had cut his finger before as a child, and had put his finger in his mouth to suck on the wound, so he knew what blood tasted like. Gross, he would be the first to admit, but…

_Hold it! Clarky is right!_

Quickly, Hopkins turned to the wall again and tasted the stain again, and then a third time to be sure.

There could be no doubt about it.

_The blood was fake!_

Hopkins started laughing as his relief washed over him like the cold spring rain shower outside. Beside him, Clarky joined in, and together the two men laughed in tandem as the tension they were under before melted away like snowflakes on a sunny day.

_If the blood was fake, then there was a great chance that Sherlock and Sheri were still alive somewhere!_

Which meant that Hopkins would not have to see Lestrade age ten years overnight once they uncovered Sherlock's and Sheri's remains, or watch Sally cry, or John waste away as he had done before…

"What the _bloody hell_ are you two doing!?"

* * *

Lestrade didn't think he could get any more stressed if he had made it his main purpose in life.

But apparently the Higher Powers That Be thought it necessary to test exactly how much he could take before he mentally cracked under the strain.

_And his underlings were certainly not helping matters any!_

John had no sooner greeted a worried Mycroft, who had arrived with the ever-present Not-Anthea typing away on her Blackberry and doing God-knows-what before Anderson came stumbling down the flat stairs in a panic, yelling for Lestrade to come quickly, because Clarky went completely balmy and was drinking blood off the walls!

After several minutes of making Anderson repeat his story over and over and at a loss as to explain it, the Detective Inspector raced up the stairs with Anderson, Donovan, Mycroft, Not-Anthea, and John at his heels.

The sight meeting them was _disturbing_, to say the least!

Hopkins and Clarky were pressed up to the blood-splattered wallpaper, giggling like a couple of teenage school girls (although they both vehemently denied this later). Clarky still had his tongue pressed to the wall when the group barged in.

"_You see!"_ Anderson screamed before anyone could move. "Clarky thinks he is a _bloody_ vampire! And now he has Stanley thinking he's one too!"

It certainly didn't help matters when Clarky and Hopkins, instead of trying to reason away their bizarre behavior, chose instead to slide down on the floor, laughing hysterically.

Lestrade felt bile rise in the back of his throat.

Clarky and Hopkins were literally licking up _blood?_

Blood that belonged to one lanky consulting detective and his precocious eight-year old daughter?

_What was going on? Was there a gas or chemical in the room that was making Clarky and Hopkins certifiably insane!?_

_Did __they__ kill Sherlock and Sheridan!?_

Mycroft, for his part, promptly ignored the certifiable maniacs, as did his private assistant, who was busy typing away on her BlackBerry (probably making arrangements to get fitted strait jackets for his two co-workers).

Taking only a moment to glance at the rolling madmen on the floor, Mycroft paused in front of a particularly large blood splatter. He leaned forward and then settled back, apparently making one of his infamous deductions.

"It appears my brother has been rather _busy_ as of late." Mycroft mused to himself.

"Busy doing _what!?_" Donovan demanded.

Before anyone could answer her, a familiar baritone voice sounded from the entry way.

"What is going on here!?"

Lestrade spun around to see a familiar figure standing in the doorway, his blue-grey eyes first taking in the Yarders' presence, then settling on Mycroft with a questioningly look on his face. A few steps behind him, holding a small plastic bag with both hands, a smaller figure peered behind her father with a look of unsuppressed curiosity.

"Uncle John? You aren't supposed to be home yet!" Sheridan's blue-grey eyes lit up with undisguised delight.

Lestrade had only seconds to process the presence of the previously-believed dead consulting detective and his young daughter, apparently alive and appearing relatively unscathed before black and white dots began to encroach upon his vision, and then the room went dark as the air suddenly disappeared.

* * *

**Author's note:**

_**Ok?**_

**What just happened!?**

**Well, let's start with the good news first! **

**Sherlock and Sheridan are alive! **

**What, did anyone think I would actually kill them or make Sherlock watch Sheridan be tortured or vice versa? Surely not! **

**At least, not yet! ;)**

**For some reason I can't bring myself to do that to Sheridan. At least, not while she is so young. I may consider doing it later though, for those who are into that sort of thing.**

**But many questions remain. Why is the flat covered with fake blood in the first place? Is it an experiment gone wrong? Sherlock's furtive attempts at baking? A reenactment of a crime scene?Some sort of sick joke?**

**I already know the answer, but I am interested in your theories! So please review and guess exactly what happened. Because the explanation is coming up in the next chapter!**

**And just to remind everyone, I don't own "Sherlock" or any other literary or fictional character that may make an appearance!**

**Now, please excuse me. I am having to deal with Clarky and Hopkins...**

**Peaceful Defender (talking to O.C. Clarky and Stanley Hopkins)-"**_Seriously_, you two! Are you vampires, or what!?"

**Stanley Hopkins**-"In case it has escaped your attention, Peaceful Defender, vampires are _cool!_ Think about it! You got shows like 'The Vampire Diaries' and 'Being Human.' And the movies! You have 'Dracula,' 'Underworld,' and 'Twilight.'"

**O.C. Clarky**-"Oh, yeah! That's the one where the vampires, like, glow in the dark or something, right?"

**Edward Cullen (walking in and taking his shirt off)-"**Actually, we sparkle like diamonds. _See!"_

**Peaceful Defender (shading her eyes)-"**_And_ it is official! Ladies and gentlemen, we now have a cross-over! Thank you for setting Clarky straight, Edward. But this is _not_ a cross-over! You can go now!"

**Edward Cullen (smirking)-"**Why?"

**Stanley Hopkins (suddenly points off screen and yells to the top of his lungs)** "Look! Some supernatural being is with Bella!"

**Edward Cullen (Looks around wildly)** "_Where!?_ Hang on, Bella! I'm coming, my love!" **(disappears off screen).**

**O.C. Clarky**-"Uh, _who_ was that?"

**Stanley Hopkins**-"You are worse than Sherlock! At least _he_ knows who the Cullens are!"

**Peaceful Defender**-"Only because it was important in a case."

**O.C. Clarky (straining to see something in the distance)-"**Huh? It looks like that sparkling kid is fighting with an overgrown dog of some kind. Oh, and I see a whole bunch of girls out there! I think some of them are rooting for the dog. Well, that can't be right! The dog might have rabies or something! Should I get my gun or something to help the sparkling kid out?"

**Stanley Hopkins**-"Not unless you are on _Team Edward!"_

**O.C. Clarky**-"Uh..._okay?"_

**Peaceful Defender**-"Hey! I am not done with you two! Explain to me why you were licking blood stains off the wall paper!"

**Stanley Hopkins**-"It wasn't real blood! It was corn syrup! With red food coloring!"

**O.C. Clarky (grinning evilly)-"**And alcohol!"

**Peaceful Defender**-"Well, thanks to you two, any possibility of me being considered sane is officially gone now!"

**O.C. Clarky**-"You mean there was still doubt about whether or not you are insane?"

**Peaceful Defender** **(growling)-"**I'll get back at you two! Hopefully, this chapter won't scare everyone from FanFiction off! Who knows, I might get one review praising me for creativity, at least."


	4. Crime Scene at Baker Street-Part 3

**Crime Scene at Baker Street (Part Three)**

* * *

**Recap: After returning home early, John discovers 221 B covered in blood and Sherlock and Sheridan no where to be found. The authorities are called in, Clarky and Hopkins prove that licking wallpaper is the new pastime, and Lestrade is close to having a heart attack.**

**And then Sherlock and Sheridan walk in, which prompts Lestrade to take a brief leave of his senses.**

**And a special thank-you to chaoticmom for her review and for following my story!**

**Also a special thank-you to Scottish Bluebell, who has reviewed all the chapters so far! **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The first thing Lestrade recognized when he returned to consciousness was the ceiling, which he recognized as being from 221 B Baker Street. He should know, as he had spent so much time there over the years. His head pounded, and the brightness of the room caused his eyelids to close involuntarily.

"Greg? _Greg!_ Come on! Talk to us!" Someone yelled out, intruding on his misery.

Lestrade didn't answer right away. At the moment, he couldn't remember exactly how he came to be lying on the floor, or what was going on. It made him uneasy. However, except for a general soreness all over, he couldn't feel any significant injuries.

But why was the room spinning?

As John would say, _a bit not good, that!_

_So, what was going on, exactly? Did he get sick? Did someone hit him over the side of the head? _

"I can't _believe_ you, Freak!" Somewhere, Donovan was yelling. "What the hell were you _thinking!?_ We thought you and Sheri were _killed!_"

"It is hardly _my_ fault that you jumped to an erroneous conclusion, Sergeant. Anyone with the slightest amount of intelligence could see that the blood is fake…"

"Thanks, Lucky!" Somewhere in the background, Clarky crowed in triumphant. "Ya see, everyone? I'm _intelligent!_"

_Blood?_

Suddenly, the image of Sherlock's sitting room, splattered with crimson pools, the furniture stained in burgundy, came rushing back to him, and Lestrade abruptly sat up, only to fall back as a wave of dizziness hit him, and he immediately laid back down, moaning.

"Oh, _bloody hell_…"

"You ok, Greg?" Above him, Hopkins leaned over, worried.

"He'll be fine if everyone stops hovering around him!" John suddenly came into Lestrade's line of vision.

"I fear the Detective Inspector has suffered a bit of a shock, brought about by my brother and my niece's juvenile antics." Somewhere, Mycroft's cultured voice floated by.

"Oh, _shut it_, Mycroft!" Sherlock's familiar voice rang out, sounding petulant. "It's not as though we knew that the Met was planning on doing a fake drug bust! Besides, I haven't taken evidence in months…"

"I am going to _kill_ Sherlock when the room stops spinning." Lestrade grumbled unhappily as he closed his eyes to fight back another wave of nausea.

"You better hurry, Lestrade, because you may have to get in line!" John muttered under his breath.

"Please refrain from saying that in front of my daughter, if you would be so kind!" Sherlock growled in John's direction. "She doesn't need to hear this!"

"How convenient for you, Sherly, to hide behind your daughter." Mycroft mentioned in a condescending voice.

"Stop it, Uncle Mycroft!" A high-pitched, lyrical voice called out. "Dad and I didn't know Uncle John was coming home early! And we were going to clean this up!"

"I don't suppose _anyone_ could explain how this happened?" Hopkins asked quizzically.

"It's quite simple, really." Sherlock muttered from somewhere. "It all started…"

"_Stop!_" Lestrade ordered. "No explanations until I'm sitting up! John, Stanley! Help me off the floor, please!"

* * *

"We were just _playing!_" Sheridan explained sheepishly. "Uncle John, Aunt Mary, and Mrs. Hudson were out of town, and none of them were supposed to come back for a few more days! And Dad had no cases! Our minds were _decomposing_ from boredom! We were in danger of dying from lack of mental stimuli!"

John smirked at the _woe-is-me_ pout on Sheridan's face, once again marveling at the resemblance between Sherlock and his young daughter.

Like Sherlock, Sheridan (or "Sheri," as she was often called) had the same chocolate curls, pale skin, and quick-silver eyes. And like her father, Sheridan had the same deductive abilities and intelligence.

And like her father, Sheridan sometimes complained about the dullness of everyday life, and often came up with crazy schemes to combat it.

_Although this was by far the looniest thing that she and Sherlock had ever done!_

"And the only thing you two _psychopaths_ could think of was to stage a bloody crime scene!?" Anderson said peevishly.

"I will freely admit that I am a _high-functioning sociopath_, Anderson, but you will take care not to call my daughter a psychopath again!" Sherlock muttered darkly, glaring at Anderson. "Just because she was smarter than you at _age one_ than you could ever hope to be…"

"Alright, alright! _Enough!_" John interrupted. "So what _happened!?_"

"Well…" Sheridan blushed, then adverted her eyes. "I thought we could play Cluedo, but I know Dad thinks it is boring game, because the rules are wrong. I agree with him, actually. It is _far_ too easy. So I made some improvements, to make it more interesting!"

"_Improvements?_" Hopkins asked incredulously.

"I tried to make it more challenging!" Sheridan explained. "With more weapons and stuff! And better characters!"

"Better characters?" Clarky asked.

Sheridan tugged at her purple scarf self-consciously. "I never liked the original characters! Who goes around with the name of _Colonel Mustard_, anyway? I like _Captain Watson_ better!"

"Flattery won't get you out of trouble yet, Sheri." John grumbled, but the relaxed look on his face showed that he was secretly amused.

"And you just _had_ to use me as '_Mr. Body._'" Mycroft noted dryly. He turned to glare at his younger brother. "_Your_ idea, I suppose, brother dear?"

Sherlock smirked. Unlike Sheridan, _he_ didn't seem embarrassed at all. "As I pointed out to Sheridan, you _are_ the British Government. Your murder would be the most challenging, after all."

John sighed as he glanced at the board game that was situated innocently on the coffee table.

In the chaos that he observed when he first entered the sitting room, he completely missed the fact that the board game was, in fact, a _Cluedo_ board game. However, the game itself had been altered, with two game boards attached to make one long game board. There were also more game pieces, and four decks of cards instead of three.

And in the middle of the makeshift "Cluedo" board was an improvised crime scene depicting a victim's outline lined out in yellow, similar to a crime scene. Definitely Sherlock's handiwork, because the dimensions of Mycroft's waistline was grossly disproportionate with the rest of the body.

Not to mention the little tagline that Sherlock put underneath the drawing, which read "Who killed the British Government?"

_But seriously, how was I supposed to know that Sherlock and Sheridan were playing their own warped version of Cluedo?_ John asked himself for the hundredth time that night.

"But then we got a little carried away." Sheridan continue the story, looking sheepish. Her alabaster cheeks flushed crimson as she continued. "Every time we took a guess, we began to act out the scenarios, just to make sure that they would be plausible in real life."

"Act it out on whom?! _Each other?!_" Anderson interrupted.

"We _borrowed_ that stupid dummy from the Yard several months back." Sherlock explained condescendingly. "The one you use for CPR training."

"So you _did_ kidnap Rescue Ralph! Ha! _I knew it!_" Anderson exclaimed in triumph.

Clarky turned from his seat to glare up at Anderson. "That's a load of bull, Anderson! You blamed _me_, remember? Because you said, and I quote this, '_Holmes would have stolen a real body, not a dummy!'"_

Anderson blushed and hurriedly sat down, properly chastened.

"Let me get this straight." Hopkins broke in. "Are you telling me that whenever either of you guessed who the murderer was, you made a bunch of fake blood to see if it would work!? And you used our training dummy as your _test victim!?_"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Not ideal, of course. First of all, the dummy was not Mycroft's size. However, I sincerely doubt there is a cadaver out there that would match Mycroft's measurements…"

"Charming as ever, dearest brother." Mycroft broke in, smiling in such a way that a normal person would have shuddered upon seeing it.

Sherlock, however, didn't show any signs of discomfort or worry. "And we already learned that some of the scenarios were unrealistic. For example, anyone who had Mary, Mrs. Hudson, or Molly as their game pieces would already have to rule out the use of the harpoon, since almost none of the women characters had the necessary arm strength needed to use enough force to stab Mycroft hard enough to mortally wound him. Come to think of it, Donovan was the only female character physically capable of such a feat." Sherlock explained calmly.

"So you made _me_ a character in your twisted game, Freak?" Donovan asked, her voice going up several octaves in direct correlation with her surprise and outrage.

"We made all of you part of the game!" Sheridan replied, picking up a few of the game pieces. "Molly is the pink one. Sally, you are the blue one, because you like blue! Uncle John is the yellow one…"

"So you made _me_ Colonel Mustard? _Real subtle_, Sherlock." John replied warily.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I didn't pick out the characters, John. That was Sheri's job."

"Which one am I?" Clarky asked eagerly, leaning over the improvised Cluedo board.

"The orange one, of course." Sheridan looked up, as if surprised that Clarky would ever choose a different color than orange.

Hopkins grinned as he picked up the orange game piece. "_Typical!_ The Body Farm person gets the orange from his alma mater!"

"Go Tennessee Volunteers!" Clarky grinned.

"As if we actually _care_ about American football, Clarky!" Hopkins snickered. "So, am I in this game?"

"You are the purple game piece." Sheridan pointed it out. "And Greg is the gray one. Anderson got the green piece. Mrs. Hudson got the white one, Aunt Mary has the red one, and Dad got the navy one!"

"Don't you have one, Sheri?" Anderson asked, looking confused as he tried to keep up with the colored game pieces and which "character" they were supposed to represent.

"Oh, I would _never_ kill Uncle Mycroft!" Sheridan shook her head, sending her dark curls flying. "All I would really need to do would be to make the CCTV system crash if I was really mad at him!"

"And yet dear _Sherly_ is a character set out to kill me. How _wonderful!_" Mycroft noted dryly, glancing over at his younger brother with a look of poorly disguised contempt. "No doubt _Mummy_ will be amused."

Sherlock smirked unashamedly at his brother's irritation. "Well, you _are_ my archenemy, after all. Who knows? Perhaps Mummy would like to play the next time she comes to visit."

"And what are these cards here?" Clarky asked.

"The 'Location' cards and the 'Weapons' cards. We left those unchanged, of course. We just made a few additions." Sheridan said cheerfully as she handed Clarky and Hopkins the two stacks.

"I'd say!" Clarky exclaimed as he began shuffling through them. "Hmmm. '_Surveillance Room._' Of course, every family just _has_ to have that one! Oh, and the '_Lab Room._' Hmmm. That's actually a good one! Remind me to ask Molly if we can make one of the spare bedrooms into a lab room! And then you got the '_Library_' and '_Dining Room_.'"

"And check out the weapons!" Hopkins said as he went through the other stack. "You got the candlestick, the revolver…a _chainsaw?_"

"Dad was the one who got to pick out the weapons we used." Sheridan explained, pointed to her father quickly.

Sherlock pouted as he gave Sheridan a sideways glance. "_Traitor!_"

"Sometimes I wonder about you, Lucky." Clarky said, shaking his head. "You are even more messed up than _I_ am, and that is saying a lot!"

"Not me!" Anderson piped up. "Any time the Freak and his little Freak Spawn gets bored, we get called in to clean up the mess!"

"THIS ISN'T A MESS! THIS IS A _BLOODY NATURAL DISASTER!_" Lestrade finally exploded. He glared at the consulting detective. "I THOUGHT SOMEONE _KILLED_ YOU! I THOUGHT WE WERE GOING TO HAVE TO BURY YOU ALL OVER AGAIN! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW I FELT AFTER YOU DIED, YOU BLOODY FOOL?! AND THEN YOU LEFT THE FLAT LIKE THIS!? IT WAS LIKE YOU DIED AGAIN, YOU GIT!"

Sherlock managed to keep his expression completely neutral, as though he didn't particularly care what Lestrade was saying. However, his eyes held the barest hint of (Guilt? Remorse? Discomfort?) and he slouched even lower into his seat on the sofa.

"Greg, sit down before I make you!" John ordered, using his _I-am-Captain-John-Watson-and-you-better-do-as-I-sa y_ voice. "Sherlock and Sheridan just got carried away! I'm sure they didn't mean for all of _this_ to happen!"

"And how do you know that?!" Lestrade challenged, turning to glare at the shorter man.

"Because they went and bought cleaning supplies!" John pointed out, holding up one of the bags that Sherlock and Sheridan had brought in with them earlier. "They didn't know I was coming home early! And after they saw the mess they made, they left the flat to get some cleaning supplies in order to clean this up! Actually, I'm surprised they didn't leave it for _me!"_

"Well, if you are planning to _volunteer_, John…" Sherlock began. Then he caught the cold glare John was gracing him with and promptly fell silent.

"We _did_ get carried away. But it wasn't supposed to upset you, Greg." Sheridan replied. She seemed rather chagrined by Lestrade's outburst. "Still, I'm glad we decided to make fake blood, instead of going to Bart's and getting real blood. It would have been harder to clean up."

"And your phone?" Donovan asked, pointing to the mangled remnants of Sherlock's pink mobile.

Sheridan raised her hand with a guilty look on her face. "During one of the scenarios, I stepped on it."

"Unintentionally, of course." Sherlock explained calmly. "I was planning to send an email to Mycroft to order a replacement, but I preferred to make the flat more presentable."

"In other words, you didn't want to get caught playing a game where your brother was the murder victim." John guessed, snickering.

Sherlock shrugged, a self-satisfied smile gracing his porcelain features. "Perhaps next time you would like to join us? I assure you, the game is rather easy, but still an improvement over the original. And you _did_ say that playing board games was a suitable way for me to spend quality time with Sheridan."

John scowled, ignoring the accusatory looks he was getting from the Yarders. "Next time, I plan on making sure you and Sheridan are not unsupervised! Only the two of you could turn a harmless board game into a _crime scene!_"

"What are _these_ cards?" Hopkins asked, picking up another stack, as though desperate for anything that would lighten the mood. "They have words on them. '_World domination?_' '_Low I.Q.?_' '_Bored?_'"

"Those are 'Motive' cards." Sherlock answered.

"_Motive cards?_ So, _location, suspect_, and _murder weapon_ isn't enough? You need to guess _motive_ too, Freak?" Donovan inquired, looking somewhat bemused by the situation, now that everyone was starting to calm down.

Sherlock smirked slightly and glanced over at Mycroft. "I highly doubt that anyone would truly _need_ a motive to kill my brother. However, a fourth dimension added to the game's difficulty. Some of the combinations we got were…mildly amusing."

"_Really?_" Clarky smirked. "Well, let's see who the last killer was!"

"Forgive me if I find it rather disturbing that you are all enthralled with an altered board game in which the characters' main objective is to determine various scenarios on how I meet my demise." Mycroft noted mildly. "If some of you should _disappear_ within the next few days, I will be able to plead self-defense. Not that it would _ever _be traced back to me, of course."

"It's just a _game_, Mycroft!" John broke in. Now that his shock and anger over the situation has dissipated, he found the entire event to be funny as well.

"Yeah! Who _wouldn't_ have a motive to kill the British Government?" Clarky joked as he pulled out the cards in the little manila envelope on top of the Cluedo board.

"Being the rebellious Yank that you are, Clarky, that shouldn't be too surprising." Donovan joked.

"Those are _fighting words_ Sally…._Oh!_" Clarky gasped as he read the cards in front of him.

"_What?_ Who did it? Who was the killer?" Anderson asked, interested despite himself.

"_Okay?_" Clarky mumbled as he read the cards. His face turned the same shade of crimson as the stains currently covering the room. "_Well!_ This is…_awkward?_"

Hopkins fidgeted impatiently. "_What!?_ Clarky, you are _killing_ us here! Well, not literally, but you know what I mean! So, who is the killer? Was it me, with the lead pipe in the Dining Room because Mycroft here kidnapped me again? Or Donovan, with the rope…"

"We never did get to that part." Sheridan broke in, looking pensive. "Dad and I got distracted when I guessed that Mrs. Hudson killed Uncle Mycroft with the harpoon, and Dad pointed out that Mrs. Hudson didn't have the necessary arm strength for that, so we took the harpoon over to the butcher's, and he allowed us to do some experimenting by seeing how much force was needed to cause a mortal injury by using a large rake of ribs…"

"But why didn't you use the dummy?" Lestrade asked. "The one you 'borrowed' from the Met?"

"Well…" Sheridan whispered, looking uncomfortable again. "By that time, there wasn't much of Rescue Ralph left to work with, so we needed something else. But don't worry! Dad will replace him for you!"

"You have _got_ to be kidding me!" Anderson choked out. He glared at Sherlock. "You are _corrupting_ your daughter, Holmes! Normal fathers do _not_ teach their daughters how much force ratio is needed to stab someone with a harpoon!"

"But I have never been _normal_, Anderson, as you have repeatedly pointed out over the years. Nevertheless, the experiments we performed show that all the female characters, with the exception of Donovan, lack the necessary strength to actually kill Mycroft with a harpoon. Sheri and I may need to substitute another weapon next time, to make the game more realistic."

Everyone stared at Sherlock with uneasy glances, but he ignored them all as he put his two fingers together in his "thinking pose."

"Hey! Wait a minute! If you went to test your little 'harpoon' theory, then why didn't you bring it back with you?" Donovan asked, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"Mr. Harrison, the nice man who owns the butchery, owes Dad a favor, and he offered to watch it for us." Sheridan replied. "After all, the Tesco wouldn't let us in to buy cleaning supplies if we were carrying a harpoon around with us."

"Oh!" Donovan said, surprised. "Well, ok then."

"Well, I have a question." Lestrade spoke up, looking pointedly at Sherlock. "Where did you get alcohol!? Because Clarky said that your fake blood has alcohol in it! And seeing as how I will have to take his word on that..."

"Two words, Lestrade. Harriet Watson." Sherlock said calmly.

"What!?" John squeaked out.

"Oh, don't jump to conclusions, John." Sherlock replied. "Your sister received a bottle of whiskey from one of her old friends. She is still dedicated to her promise to stay sober, so she came by to give you the bottle, but you were at that dull medical conference, so I offered to take it off her hands. However, I soon had need of it..."

"I think we will all need it after tonight!" Lestrade interrupted Sherlock peevishly.

Sherlock shrugged and sunk back on the couch. "Now, how do we solve the problem of killing my archnemisis?" Sherlock asked himself meditatively, his eyes half closed.

"How about _poison?_" Sheridan piped up. "It doesn't take much force to poison someone!"

"True. We just need to consider the type of poison. Arsenic and cyanide are too obvious…"

"I can't _believe_ you two are sitting there coming up with ways to kill Mycroft, even if it _is_ for a fictional game!" John exclaimed. "A bit not good, that!"

"Your concern for my emotional well-being is appreciated, Doctor." Mycroft replied calmly. "However, the idea that anyone could kill me is…_amusing_, to say the least. _Fantasies _usually are."

"If _anyone_ could come up with a way to kill you, Mycroft, it will be me!" Sherlock looked at his elder sibling with a sly grin.

"And we will be sure to remember that at your trial, Sherlock!" Lestrade broke in. He turned back to Clarky, who had remained silent during this entire exchange. "Well, what about it, Clarky? Who did it? Who is the killer?"

"_Uh_…do I _have_ to answer that?" Clarky flushed an even darker shade of red as he hid the cards in his hands. "I mean, _I_ read them and already I feel emotionally scarred for life…"

"And how do you think _I _felt when I came in to see you and Stan here licking blood off the wallpaper!?" Lestrade insisted. "Now man up, Clarky, and read the cards!"

"Don't say I didn't warn you!" Clarky muttered under his breath. "Well, the murder took place in the Conservatory…"

"_Dull!_" Sherlock huffed impatiently.

"The weapon was a dagger. And Old Silver is the killer!" Clarky finished, giving Lestrade a pointed glance.

Donovan and Anderson laughed, and Hopkins barely suppressed a grin as Lestrade glared at his subordinates.

Ever since Clarky joined the Yard, he had been coming up with nicknames for people. As he explained it, "when people in Tennessee get to accepting you, they come up with nicknames for you." Thus, over time, Sherlock became known as "_Lucky,_" while Mycroft was rechristened "_Lucky's Creepy Government Brother_."

Lestrade had been recently added to Clarky's nickname list as "_Old Silver_," after an incident in which Lestrade had come into work one day and was complaining bitterly about the abundance of grey hairs he was getting and Clarky, in his typical fashion, decided to lighten the mood by referring to Lestrade as "_Old Silver_."

Needless to say, Lestrade hadn't been too fond of his nickname choice, as was evident by the way Lestrade glared at Clarky long after the others had stopped laughing.

"Sherlock, maybe you should make _Clarky _the victim next time!" Lestrade finally grumbled.

"I considered it. But as I have said before, Mycroft was chosen because of the challenge he represented to a potential assassin. With his training and the security that normally follows him around, his murder would be considered an improbable yet unmistakable accomplishment." Sherlock explained matter-of-factly.

"Clarky, you forgot one!" Hopkins pointed out. "The motive card! _Why_ did Greg kill Mycroft?"

Clarky sighed. "I was afraid someone was going to ask that! Can't I just plead the fifth and remain silent?"

"You are not in America anymore, Clarky! Now tell us what it says!" Hopkins demanded.

Clarky gave Sheridan and Sherlock a sympathetic look before he read what the last card said. "Well…the card says '_Unrequited Love!'_"

* * *

**Author's Note: Ha, ha! Oh, you have got to love Sherlock and Sheridan! Leave them alone for a few days, and they end up warping a harmless Cluedo game into a crime scene! And all in an attempt to escape boredom!**

**Did _anyone_ see that coming? **

**Come on, be honest!**

**Ok, so Scottish Bluebell got it right! I tried to leave a few clues, and Scottish Bluebell picked up on them, so great job! Sherlock would have been proud! :D**

**And did anyone like the introduction of the "Motive" cards, and how Lestrade allegedly stabbed Mycroft in the Conservatory all for "unrequited love?"**

**All I can say is that someone may end up paying for this later!**

**This is in homage to the "Mystrade" stories out there. Now, in this universe, Lestrade and Mycroft are not shipped together. Sorry, guys. **

**So you can _imagine_ how these two gentlemen feel about the fact that one of them supposedly killed the other due to "unrequited love."**

**Not that I have anything against the Mystrade stories. I actually enjoy reading them. But my characters do what they want to do, and right now there is no Mystrade.**

**OC Chase Douglas-**_Yes!_ What did I tell you!? That is why the members of FanFiction should be in charge of "Sherlock." We get things right! I mean, we were right about Reichenbach, we were right about Moriarty, and now we were right on this event! _Sweet!_

**Peaceful Defender-**Yes, Chase. We know! The members of FanFiction are smarter than the British Government! And the Yard, for that matter! At least we don't go around licking ominous stains off wallpapers! But I feel sorry for Lestrade. How is he going to be able to go to live this one down?

**OC Chase Douglas**-"It _would_ be cool, though. Who _wouldn't_ want the DMP?"

**Peaceful Defender (eyes OC Chase Douglas warily)-**"You _do_ realize that Mycroft is old enough to be your father, right?"

**OC Chase Douglas (laughing)-**"I don't like him _that_ way! I just meant that the DMP could have his pick of anyone, men or women! Or even his umbrella. _Hey!_ Didn't you say something about the DMP being my _father!?"_

**Peaceful Defender-**"_No!_ I said he was old enough to be your father!"

**OC Chase Douglas (not listening, as always)-**"Because that would be so _cool!_ Just like 'Star Wars!' I can see it now! _'Chase, I am your father!'_ But instead of screaming, I just go hug him!"

**Peaceful Defender-**"Somehow, I _sincerely_ doubt that Mycroft is the hugging type!"

**OC Chase Douglas**-"I am _sooooo_ going to write that down! And instead of light sabers, it will be umbrellas!"

**Peaceful Defender**-"Oh dear. Have you been drinking too much coffee again?"

**OC Chase Douglas (ignoring Peaceful Defender's question, although his left eye is twitching suspiciously)-"**Thank you so much, Peaceful Defender! You are curing my writers' block!"

**Peaceful Defender (sarcastically)-"**I'm _so_ glad I could help." **(Turning attention back to the readers)** "Ok, everyone, the final part of this dabble will be up next. It involves some revenge, so stay tuned! And if you found anything even remotely interesting about this chapter, a review or two would be great!"


	5. Crime Scene at Baker Street-Part 4

**The Consequences of Sacrifice-Crime Scene at Baker Street (Part Four)**

* * *

**The conclusion of the "Crime Scene at Baker Street." **

**Some boring discussions, a return to "Post-Reichenbach" angst, and some devious episodes of sibling battles at its finest!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"So we can never play 'Cluedo' again?" Sheridan asked meekly.

"_No_, Sheridan! In fact, if I could, I would forbid you from ever playing any board games again, for fear that you will turn it into an international incident!" John proclaimed as he sat in his arm chair, overseeing the clean-up of 221 B.

Sheridan sniffed theatrically, and her bottom lip trembled slightly as she looked up at John with pitiful eyes.

John rolled his eyes. "_Forget it_, Sheridan! I have lived with your father for a long time! I am immune to the infamous 'Holmes' look!"

Sheridan sighed. "You can't blame me for trying!"

"I still say you are over-reacting, John." Sherlock mentioned causally as he put the flannel into the bucket to ring it out before proceeding to clean up several small "blood stains" on the floor. "You are impeding Sheridan's creativity! She is a genius, and restrictions will only stunt her ability!"

"Don't give me that '_impeding Sheridan's creativity'_ nonsense again, Sherlock!" John gave Sherlock a pointed glare. "Thanks to you, poor Greg is now in need of a _long_ vacation!"

"Do you think Uncle Mycroft will take him to Venice?" Sheridan joked, her silvery eyes twinkling mischievously. "I know that it is _beautiful_ this time of the year!"

"_Ha!_ I would say I would be more worried about what _Mycroft_ is going to do to the two of you!" John grumbled half-heartedly.

"Well, at least the rest of the Yarders found humor in the situation, unlike a certain _ex-Army captain_ who shall remain nameless." Sherlock shot back.

Sheridan broke out into muffled giggles as she continued to clean up a few stray spots that they missed while John tried and failed to keep a straight face.

"How would _you_ feel if someone made you a character in a board game and had you kill off the main victim because of _'unrequited love?'_" John finally asked.

Sheridan seemed to ponder this. "It was a game of chance, Uncle John. We can't control which cards get grouped together. It could have been _you_ who killed Uncle Mycroft because of unrequited love!"

John shuddered at the thought as he vividly recalled the moments immediately following the reveal of the "Motive" card.

* * *

After Clarky reluctantly read the last card, Donovan, Anderson, and Hopkins collapsed in laughter as they saw Lestrade's horrified face transfixed on Clarky's, who returned the look with a sheepish grin.

Mycroft, on the other hand, simply turned his icy blue eyes to view his younger brother and his niece huddled together on the couch. His face showed no emotion whatsoever, but his posture probably promised some form of dire retribution, evidenced by Sherlock edging slowly to the far end of the couch and Sheridan trying to curl up and disappear under the afghan that was draped on the other end.

John, for his part, was vastly amused by this unexpected turn of events, even though he had the sense not to show it at the time.

* * *

"How many times did you two play this game, anyway?" John said, holding up the improvised Cluedo box, which would soon be added to the wall with a knife wedged into it.

"We played it a total of three times, John." Sherlock replied.

"_Three times._" John repeated softly. "Then how did you two manage to stay clean, and turned the sitting room into a serial killing?"

"It's _obvious_, John. We _didn't!_" Sherlock muttered. "We cleaned up and changed before we went out, of course."

"Are you telling me that you, _Sherlock Holmes_, actually cleaned up instead of walking through London's streets, covered in blood…"

"It's not _real blood_, Uncle John!" Sheridan interrupted, glaring up at him.

"_Fake blood, then!_ Are you telling me that you cleaned yourself up so you wouldn't scare the fine citizens of London?" John persisted, turning back to Sherlock.

Sherlock shrugged as he stood up from his position on the floor. "We were in a hurry, John. It is doubtful that any cab would have allowed us to travel in them if we were covered in falsified hemoglobin."

John smirked at that comment. "At least you didn't leave here in a sheet!"

"Already done. And besides, I was making a point to Mycroft."

"Oh, yes! Nothing says _brotherly love_ like making your brother a victim in a fictionalized who-done-it game!"

"I wonder if we should write the creators of 'Cluedo.'" Sheridan pondered as she wiped up the last of the fake blood from the coffee table. "Maybe they can make a collector's edition out of it!"

"No, no, and for the last time, _no!_" John ordered. "It's bad enough that you two insured that Lestrade will be the laughing stock at the Met for many years to come!"

"Not my fault." Sherlock muttered. "Besides, that is what he deserves for all the times he broke into the flat on one of his fake drug busts! If he does not want to appreciate the creativity of a child genius, then he should not come!"

"Which child genius are we talking about?" John asked politely. "You or Sheridan?"

Sherlock glared up at John while Sheridan giggled softly in the corner. "There is no reason to be like that, John! Just because you overreacted…"

"_Overreacted?!_" John huffed. "How would you feel if you came home and your best friend's flat was a reenactment of a crime scene!? Bloody hell, Holmes! I almost had a heart attack!"

Sherlock glared at John. "Did I not do as you had requested? I ate! Well, enough, anyway. I didn't get hurt, and I didn't scare the mindless populous…and no, the _Met _do not count in this situation!"

John sighed, gently messaging his temples. "Just…_please_, Sherlock! I panicked when I came in and saw all of this!" John gestured towards the room, which thankfully was void of almost all of the fake blood by this point.

Sherlock looked down pensively. After several seconds of silence, he looked back at John. "It was never my intent to remind you of that, John. I certainly didn't intend to make you suffer that again."

John stared at Sherlock, aware that the consulting detective was not acting. He was genuinely remorseful about faking his death, even though it was necessary at the time.

And despite what some people believed, Sherlock was not a cruel person. What happened in the flat today was an accident, brought about by two bored Holmes and bad timing on his part.

"I'm sorry too, Uncle John." Sheridan confessed, looking up at him. "And we promise we won't play Cluedo ever again, if it upsets you so much."

John smiled gently and ruffled Sheridan's hair. "I may hold you to that. If I never see another Cluedo game again, I can die a happy man! In fact, I think board games are forbidden around you two!"

"Really?" Sheridan asked innocently. "Because I had some great ideas for 'Operation!'"

John sighed heavily. "Please, no! I think I suffered enough! You probably plan on getting some poor cadaver..."

"How did you deduce that, John?" Sherlock smirked as he causally rubbed at some blood on the ceiling, not even straining.

_Well, damn him and his ridiculous height anyway!_

"We can't all be tall, John." Sherlock noted quietly, giving John a knowing smile.

"How did you...oh, forget it!" John muttered irritably. "No doubt you read my expression or the way my eye twitched or something!"

"It's ok, Uncle John." Sheridan said sympathetically. "I'm short, too!"

"But you are still growing, whereas 'Uncle John' will only grow around his waistline from now on." Sherlock pointed out calmly.

"So now you are calling me fat!?" John growled warningly.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, John! But if you are really worried about your physique, you can call Lestrade up and ask him to give me more cases, so that you can help me chase down the perpetrators! Exercise, John!"

"So you would use me to get back in Greg's good graces again?" John complained as he crossed his arms in front of him in a petulant manner. "Nice try, Sherlock. Personally, I think you should worry about your _brother_ first!"

"True. I wonder what the bane of my existence is planning?" Sherlock wondered absently as he finished washing the last remaining spot off the wall. "Knowing Mycroft, it will be something immature, I am sure."

"Which means the two of you will spend the next few months at each others' throats! Well, whatever it is, you can leave me out of it!" John answered. "I absolutely refuse to get involved in the petty wars you and your brother engage in on a weekly basis! So this time, I am staying completely out of it!"

* * *

A few weeks later, much to everyone's surprise and chagrin, a new limited version of "Cluedo" was actually introduced, featuring Sherlock as one of the main characters.

There were a couple of minor changes, of course. Mycroft was no longer the victim of the game, as his role was taken by an unnamed individual without any identification, known only as "Mr. Body."

The Motive cards, for some unexplained reason, were taken out, as were most of the "improvements" and "additions" that Sherlock and Sheridan had incorporated into the game several weeks prior.

And, of course, there was no role-playing or acting out the murder scenes.

But Sherlock was distinctly unhappy by the introduction of the game, and not only because of the changes to it.

It probably had to do with the fact that the game designers decided to feature a picture of him on the Cluedo box.

And it was the picture of him wearing that _damned hat!_

John laughed himself hoarse as he brought home one of the infamous Cluedo games, enjoying watching Sherlock fume like a volcano as he plotted revenge against his brother.

Sherlock's bad mood was such that John didn't even raise a fuss when Sherlock attached the game to the wall with a dagger and use it for target practice.

"Mycroft will pay for this, John!" Sherlock growled furiously as he stomped off to his bedroom to enter his mind palace in order to formulate plans to retribution for his elder sibling. "This means _war!_"

John sighed, lifted his eyes to Heaven, and silently prayed for the strength to stay out of the battle this time.

* * *

It turned out that John didn't have long to wait.

Still, it _felt_ like a long time. After all, anyone who dealt with Sherlock and Mycroft at all knew that the two brothers often engaged in juvenile antics to prove their mental superiority against the other. So waiting for either brother to make the next move was surprisingly similar to the lull in between battles in Afghanistan.

Everything finally came to a head about three weeks after the introduction of the special edition Cluedo game. Unlike the previous days, Sherlock was unbelievably smug as he lounged around in his dressing gown and played a cheerful tune on his violin.

And then Mycroft came by and demanded Sherlock's presence.

Well, not exactly. He actually sent several dark-clad figures in ski masks to kidnap Sherlock. Which, given how the brothers interacted with one another, wasn't all that difficult to believe.

Mycroft's men would have succeeded too, had they not incurred the wrath of dear Ms. Hudson (their bodyguard not housekeeper, thank you very much!)

John couldn't really blame Ms. Hudson for overreacting.

After all, if you saw several men in ninja outfits manhandle your two tenants, wouldn't you retrieve your iron skillet from the kitchen and proceed to chase them around the flat until they deserted en masse?

Still, it probably would have been better in the long run if Mrs. Hudson hadn't gotten involved. At least for Sherlock and Mycroft. Once John told her the whole story, Mrs. Hudson proceeded to contact a higher power.

(aka-Ophelia Holmes)

(aka-the only person in the world who had the power to stop Sherlock and Mycroft from continuing their war and potentially saving civilization as we know it)

(aka-"Mummy")

* * *

Once "Mummy" got involved, tensions between the two Holmes came to an abrupt halt.

Within hours of the meeting she arranged for herself and her sons, Sherlock found himself obligated to do five cases for Mycroft. Also, the Cluedo game was mysteriously pulled from the stores, despite the fact that the limited addition game had reached record sells around England and the world.

Personally, John breathed a sigh of relief once word got out that the brothers were forced into a temporary "cease fire" before London was burned to the ground. He was starting a blog campaign on how he felt that Ophelia Holmes, a.k.a. "Mummy," should have be canonized by the Vatican decades ago, considering the trials her sons have surely subjected her to over the years.

He didn't know how successful he would be, seeing as his earlier proposal to the Vatican that Mrs. Hudson should also be elevated to sainthood due to dealing with Sherlock has still not received a response from the Church.

It was later on that John finally discovered that it was the total destruction of Mycroft's beloved Porsche that finally resulted in the heightening of hostilities that resulted in the "ninja" attack, thus requiring Mummy's divine intervention.

But it was _still_ a mystery on how Sherlock was able to pull it off.

Whenever John tried to (discretely) ask Sherlock about it, Sherlock smugly reminded him that John had promised not to get involved, so he was not entitled to learn what exactly transpired.

It was one of the few times in his life that John bemoaned that fact that he was a man of his word.

If he wasn't, then he would have been able to ask Sherlock exactly how he managed to steal a helicopter, attach Mycroft's Porsche to it, and then dropped it right into the Thames without getting caught.

* * *

**Author's Note: **

**Ah, karma's bad, isn't it? If Mycroft had, as John had once suggested, "nicked Sherlock's smurfs," then he is obviously paying for it now.**

**Well, I hope you all liked my first drabble series. I tried to make it interesting. And hopefully it brought a few smiles to everyone. I can't say I am happy with the ending on this, because it feels so rushed to me, but I am currently traveling out of state right now, and am desperate to get this posted before my computer dies. My sincere apologies!**

**I'm going to be gone for a few days too, so I won't be able to post a new drabble series until the end of next week at the earliest.**

**Assuming there is enough interest, of course!**

**I would like to take this time to give special thanks to Scottish Bluebell, my loyal reviewer and the only person who has reviewed all of my chapters so far! **

**If anyone else has read this drabble series and have any thoughts (love it, hate it, critique it, tell me to stop pretending to be a writer, etc.) please post your thoughts. **

**But as long as there is enough interest, I will continue to add stories.**

**Either that or I will be locked up forever!**

**OC Chase Douglas**-"Ahhh! That's _mean!_ We are nice to you, Peaceful Defender!"

**Peaceful Defender (gestures towards chains on her wrists)-"**_This? _ Is _nice?"_

**OC Chase Douglas (pouting)-"**_Hey! _ This is my first kidnapping! I can't be perfect like the DMP!"

**Peaceful Defender**-"You know, I always wanted to ask you something, Chase. Why do you _like_ Mycroft?"

**OC Chase Douglas**-"What's not to like? He runs a country, he gives me access to the latest state-of-the-art software, gives me all the coffee I want, and he surrounds himself with beautiful women! I mean, haven't you seen Anthea, the Goddess of Love?"

**Peaceful Defender**-"Anything else?"

**OC Chase Douglas**-"Well, he did bond me out after my unfortunate incarceration!"

**Peaceful Defender**-"Oh yeah! The time you were with the 'Sherlockians' and were busted leading a group in song. What were you singing, anyway?"

**OC Chase Douglas**-"_'God Save The Queen.'_ What else do you sing in England?"

**Peaceful Defender**-"So you basically adopt whatever culture you are in, am I right?_"_

**OC Chase Douglas**-"Well, when in Rome, do as the Romans do!"

**Peaceful Defender**-And because Mycroft kidnaps people, you thought that doing it to me is a good idea?"

**OC Chase Douglas**-You mean it isn't?

**Peaceful Defender (sighing)-"**I am _never_ going to be released, am I? Someone, convince Chase to let me go! Please review!"


	6. Family Ties-Part 1

**The Consequences of Sacrifice: Family Secrets (Part One)**

**This is a little something I typed up one day while I was in court. I probably shouldn't have, because it was during a preliminary hearing involving a murder, and I was trying to distract myself from the gory details. **

**I can only hope I didn't smile while I was writing, or it would have been as appropriate as giggling at a crime scene!**

**I am not too happy with the beginning, but it gets better as I go. So please be patient.**

* * *

John sighed as he tried to focus his attention back to his blog, trying to decide what he could safely post about the events of the last week, and finding the task extremely difficult.

Technically, he should be enjoying this unexpected day off, courtesy of his boss, Dr. Anthuster, who had called John over the weekend to inform him that he was to be given a few days off (paid, of course) as a "gesture of appreciation for being such a hard-working and dedicated employee over the years."

Personally, John would have been flattered, had he not sensed that a certain government employee who-must-not-be-named wasn't involved.

And, of course, it would have been more difficult keeping his patient in bed if he had to go to work.

* * *

"JOHN!"

John groaned aloud and quickly set his laptop to the side. He got up and strolled down the hall towards the bedroom and opened the door.

"What is it?!"

His patient looked up, lips pursed in a petulant scowl. "Don't you think it's time to uncuff me now?"

John couldn't help but grin slightly at this suggestion. "I don't think so. For one thing, you will just try to sneak out and injure yourself again. Second, I figure you should be used to handcuffs!"

"You're cruel, Doctor! Whatever happened to the Hippocratic Oath? _'Thou shall do no harm?_'"

"That's strange, coming from you." John retorted.

"_Please?_ What if I gave my word of honor that I will not leave the flat for any reason unless you specifically say so?"

John hesitated. Did he _really_ want to risk it? After all, his patient had tried to leave the flat twice in the last five days.

_And if she escaped, then he would never hear the end of it from Sherlock._

"Do you promise to behave, and to not leave the flat under any circumstance?"

Irene grinned as she gave the ex-army doctor a military salute with the one hand that wasn't currently shackled to the bed. "I most solemnly promise not to leave the flat, nor endanger my health, or do anything else except to relax and recuperate until you say it is alright for me to leave. Now will you please uncuff me? These handcuffs are really chaffing my wrist!"

"How many times have your clients begged you for the same thing?" John smirked wickedly.

"Release me and then I will tell you about it." Irene smiled playfully. Thankfully, the deep bruises on her face were quickly fading, and the swelling on her right cheek was gone. Before too much longer, it would be difficult to remember that she was ever injured in the first place.

Sighing in defeat, John reached into his trouser pocket and got the spare set of keys for the specialty cuffs that Sherlock had used to secure Irene to the bed. "I'll give you one chance! But if you try to escape again, I swear that not even the British Government could save you!"

"Oh, _feisty!_ No wonder your dear wife always seems so happy all the time, Mr. Three Continents!" Irene snickered as John released her. She yawned, and then slowly stretched her arms out in front of her.

John rolled his eyes, already used to Irene's not-so-subtle innuendos. "A gentleman never tells about such matters, Irene. Now, what do you need while I am here? Something to eat?"

"You don't need to trouble yourself, John. I promised I would stay until it is safe to leave. So I will behave." Irene replied evenly as she rested her head back onto the pillows with a self-satisfied smile. "Besides, I can't just leave without saying good-bye! Sheridan would never forgive me!"

* * *

Three hours later, and Irene had stayed true to her word. When John checked on her an hour later, he discovered her stretched out on the bed, the papers she was reading discarded on the floor and the telly on one of those boring daytime shows. As quietly as he could, John turned off the telly and picked up the newspapers before leaving Irene to her nap.

Irene didn't stir once during the entire time he was there.

Which was good. She needed to rest, no matter how much she tried to deny it.

Like Sherlock, Irene had proven to be a most difficult patient. Always arguing about the simplest things, such as wanting to roam the streets to look for the men who had attacked her as opposed to resting and letting herself heal. Complaining incessantly about how bored she was and how cruel John and Sherlock were being for keeping her in bed. And often refusing to take her pain medication until she was practically withering with discomfort.

In short, Irene was just as bad as Sherlock.

Maybe worse. After all, Sherlock had never threatened to go after John with a riding crop.

But he had threatened to set all of John's jumpers on fire once. And had actually managed to destroy two of them before Mrs. Hudson caught him in the act.

So John figured that if Irene carried out her threat, then Mary would save him.

* * *

Currently, John and Irene were the only two in the flat. Ms. Hudson was out visiting her bridge club, Mary was at work, and Sheridan was in school.

And Sherlock?

Well, he was busy doing..._whatever_ it is that he is doing!

Personally, John was surprised that Sherlock had even left the flat at all. The last few days consisted of him watching over Irene and tending to her...

_Stop it, John! Just. Stop. It!_

_Stop thinking about Irene sleeping in Sherlock's bed. Of Irene and Sherlock spending hours in there together..._

_Agh! A bit not good that!_

John shook his head as he tried to clear his mind. It wasn't as though anything was going on, after all! Irene was hurt, and Sherlock was being surprisingly considerate. He would bring Irene food and medication, and even managed to roll the television into the bedroom so that Irene could indulge in watching mindless telly during the hours that she wasn't slumbering away, curled up like a bird whose wings had been broken.

Still, it was better than the state that she was in when she first arrived.

* * *

**Five Days Earlier**

_"JOHN!"_

John Watson sighed as he heard the baritone voice bellow through the door. "I don't _believe_ this!"

_Was it too much to ask Sherlock for him to enjoy one night with his wife?! _

Mary giggled good-naturedly as she slowly unwrapped herself from John. "Do you think it is a new case? Or do you think he hurt himself again?"

"All I can say is that someone better have a medical emergency!" John grumbled. Taking a moment to smooth out his hair and fix his rumpled jumper, he got off the couch and stomped over to the front door, muttering under his breath.

"_Sherlock!_" John growled when he fumbled with the lock on his door. "You better have a good excuse for this! It's eleven o'clock at night! So unless it is a medical emergency, you are in big trouble!"

"It _is_ an emergency, Uncle John!" Sheridan called out breathlessly from behind the door.

John frowned, actual fear starting to course through him. Hastedly, he opened the door to his flat.

Sheridan was there, looking agitated, her long flowing hair bouncing up and down from her shoulders as she fidgeted impatiently. But one glance told John immediately that she, at least, was not in need of a doctor's care.

Sherlock, however, was expressionless. Unlike Sheridan, he has apparently been outside, as was evident by the sodden Belstaff coat and scarf he wore.

And they were both stained with blood.

"It's not mine." Sherlock answered John's unspoken question. "I went out to meet with members of the homeless network. I was returning home when I discovered Ms. Adler a few blocks away from here."

"Ms. Adler...you mean _Irene Adler?"_ John asked, bewildered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes to express his displeasure of John's statement. "How many women do you know who go by the name 'Ms. Adler?' Honestly, John! Your talent is stating the obvious is matched only by the idiots at the Yard!"

John scoffed. "Well, pardon me for being surprised! But what is she doing back in London anyway? Wasn't she suppose to remain in hiding?"

"The reason for her visit is not important right now, John. Currently, she is in need of your medical prowess."

"She's hurt pretty bad, Uncle John!" Sheridan broke in, her blue-green eyes widened in alarm. "Can you help her?"

"What happened?" Mary asked worriedly, coming up to stand behind John. "Was there an accident?"

"Based on what I have been able to observe from the evidence, it appears that she was attacked." Sherlock said curtly. "There are bruises and injuries indicative of a severe beating. As she is still alive, I deduce that she had managed to escape. However, that means that there are people out there that still wish to do her harm. For that reason, she cannot go to a hospital."

John nodded. Given Irene's past, he was not surprised at her reluctance. "Give me a second! I'll get my bag!"

Mary turned to John. "May I help? I'm not squeamish."

Sherlock looked at Mary with surprise. "You are not angry?"

Mary smirked. "I am not heartless, Sherlock! Besides, John was born to help people! Do you think I would keep him from that?"

Sherlock nodded curtly before looking back at John. "I'll be waiting upstairs. Bring your kit to my bedroom. That is where I left Ms. Adler."

And with that, Sherlock turned around and raced up the stairs.

"And I'll go and find more blankets." Sheridan replied as she followed behind her father.

"Wait!" John cried out. "Sheridan! Aren't you a little _young_ for this!?"

Sheridan looked back at John with a bemused look on her face. "What do you mean? I've seen people hurt before! I want to help! And besides, if anything happened to Irene, then who will cuddle with Dad?"

Sherlock looked down the steps at his daughter, exasperated. "I do not _cuddle _with that woman!"

"Yes you do, Dad!" Sheridan countered. "Or, at least, she cuddles with you, and you allow it!"

"I do _not_, Sheridan Joanne Morray-Holmes!"

"Do too!"

"_I do not!_ And stop arguing, or you will be put in time-out!" Sherlock demanded before he looked back at John and Mary. "And could we please desist from the interrogation for the time being?"

"Of course, Sherlock!" John said stoically. "We need to go and save your _cuddle partner_, after all."

If looks could kill, then John would have been reduced to a pile of ash in an instant.

"You are fortunate that I am in need of your medical expertise, John." Sherlock growled as he glared at the shorter man. "Although Ms. Adler may need _Molly's_ assistance before too long if you keep standing around!"

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" John countered.

* * *

It turned out that Irene had suffered a few broken ribs, several contusions, a cut lip, and several other scrapes and bruises. In a broken whisper, she related how she had come to London to deal with some "business" (the nature of which was not explained at the time) when she was knocked unconscious and attacked by two men. She swore that she did not recognize them, and she had no idea why they picked her.

Irene had managed to escape by landing a blow which almost certainly broke one of her assailant's nose, which distracted them long enough for her to lurch forward through the maze of London's narrow alleyways before she finally collapsed a few blocks away.

Sherlock had apparently stumbled upon her by complete chance. He had finished meeting with several members of his homeless network to pay them for their services in a recent case that he solved. He was heading home when he noticed a fresh blood stain, in the shape of a hand, on the brick wall inside a narrow alley.

He followed it, and soon found Irene, shivering, bleeding, and unconscious on the dark payment, her clothes torn and her purse missing.

Technically, the best course of action would have been to call an ambulance and get Irene to the hospital. But given Irene's past and the fact that she was still technically "dead" (as far as the general public and her enemies were concerned, at least), taking the former dominatrix to a hospital would have certainly alerted people that she was still alive.

So Sherlock made the decision to take Irene back to the flat, calling upon John's medical knowledge and skills to heal her.

John had to admit that Sherlock had certainly impressed him with his conduct over the last few days. Instead of siding with Irene (which John half-expected to happen, given Sherlock's own disregard of his health), he actually insisted that Irene stay in bed and rest while he searched the city for her attackers.

Sheridan, bless her heart, had also taken it upon herself to see to it that Irene was resting comfortably and was Irene's most frequent visitor outside from Sherlock. She would spend hours prattling about school, what was going on at the Yard, and so on.

And Irene, who probably would have been bored out of her mind otherwise, seemed to genuinely enjoy the company of the little girl who, in all honesty, was probably one of the few that Irene did not mind to see her in such a vulnerable state.

Mycroft, the interfering prick that he was, had come by yesterday, complete in his pin-striped suite and twirling that damned umbrella.

It was during this visit that John finally learned why Irene was back in London.

* * *

As it turned out, the shadow of Moriarty, almost three years after the Fall, continued to plague them all.

Moriarty was gone, of course. Finally dead and gone. So were the remains of his empire. However, as John had learned from Mycroft's business, several of Moriarty's rivals had begun to form their own empires. None of them had come close to Moriarty in terms of intelligence or shear insanity, of course. But they were all potentially dangerous, and Her Majesty's Government was not about to wait around for another criminal web to form under it's watch.

Several of the world governments, who did not wish to see the rise of another criminal empire under the direction of another Moriarty, were already engaging in various operations to keep the threat contained. However, it would take some time for agents to get established within these criminal networks.

Mycroft Holmes, on behalf of the British Government, did not feel that there was much time to waste, so he opted to deal with several non-official channels with the contacts need to infiltrate these organizations quickly.

Thus, Mycroft had contacted Irene Adler, who had personal knowledge of most of Moriarty's rivals. The plan was for her to go undercover and spy on the organizations from within.

Irene was more than happy to assist. Apparently, she had feared Moriarty more than she had ever let on, and the idea of another Moriarty emerging from the criminal underworld was something that she could not accept.

Sherlock, on the other hand, seemed less enthused by the idea, but was far too prideful to admit to it openly.

However, if it turned out that Irene's attackers had in fact knew of her identity, then the mission was severely compromised.

_And if they decided to return to finish the job..._

* * *

The sound of several footsteps resounding on the steps just outside the sitting room suddenly echoed through the room, jolting John out of his revere and bringing him back to the present.

Someone began to knock on the door. Politely at first, then impatiently.

Someone was outside. Or at least several someones.

Hastily closing his laptop, John rushed to the door, silently cursing himself for forgetting to retrieve his pistol from his flat.

_But who was at the door?_

John had no time to wonder as he heard the unmistakable click of the lock being undone, and the door swinging open...

* * *

**Duh duh duh! Evil cliffhanger alert!**

**I am so sorry I haven't been able to update recently! Things got very hectic around here (my birthday, work, court cases, a longer-than-expected trip out-of-town, etc.) So I will post two chapters today as my punishment.**

**A special thanks to Scottish Bluebell, my extremely loyal blogger, for without whom I would have given up posting a long time ago.**

**To anyone else, thank you for reading my story. I hope you will take time to review (you love it, you hate it, I should be banned from writing, etc.). I'm not picky.**

**In the next part of this drabble series, we see the uninvited guests and the fallout. Plus, a surprising secret about Irene is revealed to all.**

* * *

**OC Chase Douglas-"**So what's the secret?"

**Peaceful Defender (scoffing)-"**Do you think I am going to tell you?"

**OC Chase Douglas-"**So you are still mad at the whole 'kidnapping thing?'"

**Peaceful Defender-"**What do you think? How do I explain to people that my characters from a story have kidnapped me because they want me to continue their story? As if people didn't think I wasn't mentally imbalanced enough as it is!"

**OC Chase Douglas-"**Well, you are an attorney! Hey, by the way! I heard about this nation-wide poll on the radio yesterday! People were asked which profession had the most psychopaths! And guess what!"

**Peaceful Defender (rolling her eyes in mock dismay)-"**Attorneys are number one?"

**OC Chase Douglas-"**Nope! Apparently, you guys have been replaced-by company CEOs! How lame is that! You need to do better!"

**Peaceful Defender-"**I'll keep that in mind. As soon as I post the next part of this drabble..._right now."_


	7. Family Ties-Part 2

**The Consequences of Sacrifice: Family Ties (Part Two)**

**This is my apology for taking so long to update. A bonus chapter!**

**Basically, Baker Street gets some unexpected guests, and it turns out that someone else has a relationship with Irene!**

**Rated T for some minor swearing and sexual innuendos.**

* * *

"_Greg!?_ What are _you_ doing here?"

Lestrade shrugged as Donovan, Anderson, Hopkins, and Clarky walked in. "We are conducting a drug bust."

"_What!?_" John gasped. "_Why?_ Surely you don't think Sherlock is _using_?"

Donovan turned around and snorted. "If he was, I would beat the crap out of him, John! Actually, Sherlock took some evidence, and we need it back."

John rolled his eyes in frustration. "Have you _called_ him?" He asked absently as Clarky headed to the direction of the kitchen, while Hopkins headed straight to the fireplace mantle.

"I tried, but he's not answering his mobile." Lestrade admitted.

"Typical. That's because he is on a case." John told him.

"Well, we need that evidence back." Lestrade replied, folding his arms across his chest in a manner that implied that he would not leave the premises until he found what he was looking for.

Realizing he was probably fighting a losing battle, John rolled his eyes and headed to the stove. "Here. I'll go ahead and make you all some tea."

"I'll get the mugs out." Donovan offered graciously as she went to the cabinet where the spare mugs were kept every time the Yarders came by.

"You know, I am surprised that the Met continues to allow you to conduct these 'drug busts,' Greg!" John replied as he placed the kettle on the stove. "I mean, there are only so many times that you can get an unanimous call and continue to come up empty!"

"Well, this wouldn't happen if Sherlock didn't keep nicking the evidence." Lestrade shot back.

"Fine! But none of you are allowed in Sherlock's bedroom!" John replied tersely.

"No limits on drug busts, John." Lestrade grumbled.

"There is a limit _this_ time!" John shot back. "Trust me! You _don't_ want to go in there!"

"Hey! Look at _this!_" Clarky called out excitedly. He held up a pair of plastic bags, each containing a human hand. "I found _these_ in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator!"

"And yet you seem oddly _happy_ by that. Dare I ask?" Lestrade responded dryly.

Clarky shrugged. "Just brings back memories of the good old days! I mean, Lucky was pretending to be someone else when I met him, so I don't really know how much of it was real and how much of it wasn't. You know?"

Donovan shook her head. "I still can't believe that we haven't conducted a raid on _your _flat yet, Clarky. No wonder the Freak likes you!"

Clarky smirked. "That's because I was raised up right! I come from a good family!"

"Ok! The skulls are clean!" Hopkins pronounced proudly as he walked away from the mantle. "And the room isn't covered in blood! So we know Sheridan and Sherlock haven't been playing Cluedo again!"

Lestrade shot him a sour look. "_Stanley!_ There is no way the evidence would fit in _Abby_! Or Sherlock's skull, for that matter."

"What _do_ you guys call Sherlock's skull, anyway?" Anderson asked, looking back at John.

"My predecessor." John grumbled. Scowling, he turned back to Lestrade. "Look, Greg. Right now is not the best time…"

"That's the point!" Lestrade replied. "We need that evidence to secure a warrant! And if Sherlock has taken it…"

"Let me go on the record as saying that I don't think Lucky took it." Clarky spoke up as he placed the body parts back in the fridge.

"Then why did you volunteer to be part of this little 'drug raid?'" Lestrade asked Clarky.

Clarky shrugged. "Curiousity! By the way, why do you call these things 'drug raids,' anyway? Is that British slang for being _noisy_, or what?"

Lestrade groaned, then answered in a deadpan tone. "Yeah, Clarky! That's what this is! Because the British have nothing better to do than to do fake drug busts on people's houses!"

Clarky grinned. "I figured it was something like that! Well, while we are here, I'm going to do a fake drug bust downstairs! I bet Mrs. Hudson has some good food stashed somewhere! She never minds anyway!"

"_Clarky…_"

But it was too late. Before anyone could stop him, Clarky practically skipped over to the main entrance and raced down the stairs.

"Well, at least he will be out of our hair for a while." Donovan chuckled.

John sighed. "Look, Greg. I _seriously_ don't think you are going to find anything of interest here. Besides, Sherlock has a guest…"

"_Holy shit!"_ Hopkins yelled as he stepped away from the hallway leading towards Sherlock's bedroom.

He was quickly followed by a woman clad in Sherlock's robe.

John huffed in annoyance as he watched the Yarders' mouths drop open in shock.

_This just wasn't his day!_

* * *

"Well, isn't _this_ a surprise!" Irene smirked as she waltzed into the sitting room. "I never thought I would get _visitors_ today!"

John sighed. "Go back to bed, Irene! I got this sorted!"

"And miss all of _this?_ I think not!" Irene grinned mischiviously. She glanced at the mugs on the kitchen table and nodded approvingly. "Would you mind making me a cup as well, John? If we don't have enough, you can always let me borrow Sherlock's favorite cup. I'm sure he won't mind."

"Uh, John?" Lestrade glanced over at the beautiful woman who was wearing Sherlock's blue robe (and little else, from the looks of things), then back over towards John. "Who? Is? _That?_"

"Greg, you don't know who this _is!?"_ Hopkins squeaked out, his eyes riveted on Irene.

"Not really. Care to enlighten us?" Anderson asked, looking critically at Irene's wardrobe (or lack thereof).

"This is the _Woman!_" Hopkins looked back at his collegues, only to be met by blank stares.

"Who?" Donovan asked.

"Seriously? You guys never heard of the _Woman!?_" Hopkins asked incredulously.

"Well, it's nice to know I still have fans!" Irene graced Hopkins with a wink.

"Stop that, Irene! You'll make his head explode!" John warned her. "And if you are going to be up, at least sit down before you pass out again!"

Irene pouted, but obediently sat down in one of the arm chairs.

"What happened to you?" Donovan finally managed to ask, looking at the other woman with concern as she noted the bruises that lined Irene's neck and face.

Irene shrugged. "Just a run-in with people who are _not_ fans of mine. Let's leave it at that."

"Did someone attack you?" Anderson persisted, taking a few steps closer to get a better look.

"She's Sherlock's guest, and the last thing she needs is to be harassed!" John finally exploded. He turned and glared at Irene. "Now, get back in bed where you belong!"

Irene giggled. "Is that an _order_, Doctor? I don't know if Mary would like that!"

Hopkins' forehead furrowed. "I thought that it was only your clients who got bruises!"

Lestrade's eyes widened with realization, and he glanced worriedly at John. "_Belgravia?"_

"Yes." John acknowledged brusquely.

Lestrade shook his head in amazement. "So she drugged Sherlock, and yet she's staying _here!?"_

"Wait! _Who_ drugged Sherlock!?" Donovan asked.

"That honor would be mine." Irene admitted, looking overtly pleased with herself. "Perhaps I can give a demonstration later!"

Before John could debate the medical ethics of dragging his unwilling patient back to Sherlock's bedroom by force and handcuffing her back to the bed again, he was interrupted by the soft tread of an eager American bounding back up the seventeen stairs with gusto.

"_Okay!_ Except for some herbal soothers, Mrs. Hudson is clean! However, I confiscated some cake, just to be sure…" Clarky called out, then stopped dead in his tracks as he crossed the doorway, his eyes suddenly coming to rest on the burnette woman in the long blue dressing gown.

"My God!" He whispered in disbelief. "_Irene!?_"

* * *

"Hello, Edward." Irene smirked cheerfully as she propped herself up straighter on the chair. "It's been a while!"

Clarky stood in the doorway, gaping, as his jaw threatened to drag to the floor. _"Renie?_ What are you doing here!?_"_

Irene pouted as her face flushed slightly. "I _hate_ it when you call me that!"

"_Wait!_ Everyone, just _hold_ it!" Hopkins shouted. He looked incredulously at Clarky. "Clarky, you actually know _The Woman!?"_

Clarky did not respond to Hopkins' question, or even acknowledge the other people in the room. Instead, he bent down near the chair so that he was literally face-to-face with Irene. His green eyes full of concern, Clarky gently cupped Irene's face with one hand as he tentatively turned it to view the bruises.

Surprisingly, Irene made no move to prevent him from doing so, silently consenting to his inspection.

Clarky winced as he brushed the tip of his finger on the small healing gash on Irene's cheek. He then hissed in agitation and focused his gaze on the battered woman, his features drawn with anger. "Who did this to you?!"

"Sherlock _found_ her like that!" John protested, feeling the need to jump to Sherlock's defense before the Yarders began accusing him of crimes that he didn't commit.

_Again!_

Clarky looked up at John and stared at him as though he had grown a second head. "John, why would _anyone_ in their right mind think for one moment that _Lucky_ did this!? He's not the type! And besides, Lucky's _right-handed!_ Most of the bruises are on the right side of Renie's face! So the attacker is _left-handed!_ I say that rules Lucky out!"

The Yarders looked at Clarky with amazement. Underneath his often eccentric exterior, Clarky sometimes displayed heightened insight.

It was times like these that gave the Yarders a glimpse as to why the normally aloof detective chose to tolerate Clarky during his brief stay at the Body Farm.

And for anyone who ever met Sherlock, the fact that he tolerated your presence was as close to an admission of friendship as you were expected to get.

Oblivious to the stares he was getting, Clarky turned back to Irene. "Well, Irene, let's have it! Was it a stalker? An ex-client?"

"I don't know, Edward. Knowing my luck, it was probably a bit of both." Irene admitted softly. Her face turned crimson, and she looked down in embarrassment.

"Figures!" Clarky grunted. He looked back at John. "Is she badly injured, John? Has she been to the hospital?"

John furrowed his forehead as he tried to formulate an answer to Clarky's question without trying to imagine exactly _how_ Clarky knew "The Woman."

_The various scenarios of how they could have met were all disturbing, and would no doubt upset poor Molly if she ever found out. _

"Ms. Adler has two cracked ribs, and several lacerations and bruising. One of her lacerations became infected, and she ran a low-grade fever for a while, but she's on the mend."

Clarky responded by gently gripping Irene's hand, caressing it with his thumb while Irene allowed him to. "Anything else? She wasn't…"

"They didn't do _that_, Edward." Irene said gently, almost comfortingly. "They seemed more interested in proving how strong they were by seeing who could break my ribs first. But you know how resourceful I am! I got away before they could do too much damage. Believe me, this looks far worse than it actually is."

"Praise God for that!" Clarky breathed thankfully. "So, what are you doing here, then? Why didn't you call me? Or did you hear about Lucky's deduction mumbo-jumbo and asked him to help you?"

Irene suddenly grinned playfully. "Oh, Sherlock's a _friend_ of mine, Edward. We met a while back and had _dinner_ once or twice."

Clarky froze. A look of abject horror crossed his features. "_Oh!_ Oh, _Irene!_ _Please_ tell me this isn't what it looks like!"

"What does it _look_ like, _Clarky_?" Irene asked, the teasing tone back in her voice.

Clarky responded with a loud growl as he abruptly stood up, all looks of relief and tenderness vanished. "_Damn it_, Renie! You _promised_ you wouldn't do this again!"

Before the Yarders or John could process the scene they had just witnessed, Clarky exited the room, shouting to the top of his lungs. "_LUCKY!_ Are you hiding somewhere!? Do me a favor, and get away from my cousin, if you know what's good for you! You have _no_ idea where she's been!"

* * *

**Author's Note: Ha ha! I'm so sorry, but I couldn't resist!**

**Hey! I said that I would reveal that Irene had another relationship! I just didn't specify that it was a family relationship! So sue me!**

**Actually, don't. I have been in court so much over the last few weeks that I am seriously considering changing my address, as I have seem to taken up residence there.**

**To anyone who is offended that I made the suave and beautiful Irene related to someone like _Clarky_, I do apologize. However, I always wanted to explore a little of Irene's childhood, and I wanted to do it from a third person's point of view.**

**Plus, Irene and Clarky do have quite a bit in common. They both like Sherlock (in different ways, of course). They are both rather eccentric, and they both love their toys (Clarky loves his guns, and Irene loves her handcuffs and riding crop!) LOL!**

**The next chapter will reveal some hilarious family secrets, as well as revisit a chapter from my first story "The Meaning of Sacrifice." Hope you all enjoy it!**

**Stanley Hopkins**-"OMG! You mean that Clarky is actually related to The Woman?! Peaceful Defender, that is just _wrong!"_

**Peaceful Defender**-"Stanley, how is it that you know about Irene anyway?"

**Stanley Hopkins**-"I read her website!"

**Peaceful Defender (raising an eyebrow)-"**_Really?"_

**Stanley Hopkins**-"Hey! I'm allowed to surf the net in my spare time!"

**Peaceful Defender**-"_Uh huh!"_

**Stanley Hopkins-**"Oh, _shut it_, Peaceful Defender! What I can't understand is how Clarky is related to her!"

**Peaceful Defender-**"Why is that so difficult to believe?"

**Stanley Hopkins (sputtering)-**"Because the Woman is..._you know!"_

**Peaceful Defender (smirking)-**"No I don't. Please explain."

**Stanley Hopkins (fidgeting nervously)-**"You know what? I think we will discuss this at a later time! After all, this might be a bit..._mature_ for some of your readers."

**Peaceful Defender-**"I can't wait to tell Clarky that you spend time staring at pictures of his cousin on the internet! **(laughs hysterically)** Oh, Hopkins! You are in so much trouble!"

**Stanley Hopkins (suddenly smiles)-**"Do you think that Clarky would object if I dated his cousin?"

**Peaceful Defender**-?


	8. Family Ties-Part 3

**The Consequences of Sacrifice: Family Ties (Part Three)**

* * *

**In the last installment, we learn that Irene Adler, former dominatrix, is related to Clarky, who is the epitome of cluelessness. More family secrets are revealed, and the Yard learns some interesting details of Sherlock's (ahem) "personal life."**

**There is a vague reference to some events referenced in Chapter 24 of my first story, "The Meaning of Sacrifice." However, it is not necessary to read it if you don't want to, as I did my best to reference it here.**

**Warning-Some foul and suggestive language. Nothing too graphic, unless you are Anderson! ;)**

* * *

"So Irene Adler is your _cousin!?_" John managed to ask, about twenty minutes later, after Clarky had finally calmed down from his rant, which consisted of a fair amount of foul language and some choice American sayings that John hadn't heard of before.

"_My_ mother was _her_ mother's older sister. So, _yes_, we are related!" Clarky muttered darkly. "And yes, my dirty little secret is out! We have _Brits_ in the family!"

"I didn't know you knew _Sherlock_, Clarky!" Irene smirked as she sipped her tea, pointedly ignoring the bemused looks of the other Yarders, who, in light of the circumstances, had apparently forgotten all about the "drug raid" in favor of learning more about Clarky's genetic ties and Sherlock's private life.

Clarky shrugged. "Oh, I ran into Lucky some time back, Irene! Remember I told you about the crazy English bloke I worked with a few years back? Patrick Covington?"

"_That_ was Sherlock?" Irene asked incredulously.

"_Oh, yeah!_" Clarky said, shaking his head in mock despair. "Apparently, he had faked his death, and my fiancé, Molly, sent him to Tennessee to work at the Body Farm with me! It's a _long_ story!"

"I think I already know enough." Irene giggled. "I met Sherlock before you did! When I was still, shall we say, _infamous?_"

"Before you had to go and fake _your_ death? Yeah, yeah! I get it!" Clarky muttered, then looked up at John. "Why is it that half the people who can tolerate me have to go and fake their deaths for? I never can remember whether I am supposed to send them a Christmas card or cry fake crocodile tears! It's _annoying!_"

"I still can't believe you are related to _The Woman!_" Hopkins noted. He eyed Clarky with an expression bordering on respect and awe. "I mean…_bloody hell_, Clarky!"

"Stop it!" Clarky growled. "There is no reason to get all hot and bothered by this, Stanley! Every family has a few _outlaws!_ It helps to balance the fact that we have to deal with _in-laws_!"

"Clarky, you need to calm down!" Irene said as she leaned forward in her chair (which, coincidently, was _Sherlock's_ chair.)

"Renie, I would be a _little_ calmer if I didn't have personal knowledge that you employed your methods on _two _of my co-workers in the past. _And_ my high school football coach! _And_ my superior officer!" Clarky grumbled.

"Wait a minute!" Lestrade interrupted, waving his hand. "What _are _you talking about?"

John leaned forward. "Clarky, by _superior officer_, are you talking about the _same_ superior officer you ran in to save from a burning building while you were still in basic training? But the incident was kept quiet because of the, uh, _unpleasant circumstances?_"

Donovan's dark eyes became as round as dinner plates. "_What_ unpleasant circumstances?"

Clarky sighed in defeat. "When I was in basic training, my superior officer was in a well-known brothel when the damned building caught fire! I had to run in there and save his naked ass! And I mean that in the _literal _sense!"

"Clarky was _so_ gallant!" Irene chuckled. "I remember the look on his face when he broke the door down! While his superior officer was drunk, and pretty much useless, Clarky was going around the building and making sure everyone got out safely."

Clarky glared at Irene with irritation. "And there _you_ were, with my commanding officer chained to the bed…"

"He _wanted_ punishment! So I _gave_ it to him!" Irene protested, shooting Clarky a dirty look. "Besides, I give my clients what they want! And I knew _just_ how he liked it!"

Lestrade slowly sank onto the leather couch. "Why am I the last one to learn these things? Clarky, why didn't you tell us that _your_ cousin was sleeping with _my _consulting detective!?" He moaned.

"_Your _consulting detective? What are you, his _handler_?" Irene asked, looking more and more amused.

"And what are _you?_ Sherlock's _bitch?_" Anderson asked derisively, taking offense on how Irene had spoken to Lestrade.

"Maybe. Or maybe Sherlock is _my_ bitch. I think we are still trying to figure that out." Irene answered, her expression thoughtful, as though she was seriously considering what the answer was.

Anderson gaged. "I think I am going to be _sick!_"

"Shut it, Anderson! This is getting _good!_" Hopkins demanded before turning back to Irene. "So? The incident with Clarky's officer! What happened next?" Hopkins asked, giving British etiquiette no quarter as he leaned forward, desiring to learn more details.

"What happened next was pretty funny!" Irene giggled. "Clarky didn't recognize me at first! He just barreled through the door, not really looking at me, and said '_excuse me, ma'am, but there's an emergency. The building is on fire, so if you don't mind to put on some clothes and follow me out…'"_

"Then I looked up, and recognized Renie!" Clarky said sadly. "I knew it wouldn't look too good for her if she was caught, so I helped her sneak out the window by tying my superior officer's clothes together to make a makeshift rope, except _she_ ran off with them once she reached the ground!"

"His wallet was in them, and I hadn't been paid yet. I was coming back!" Irene protested, crossing her arms in front of her chest and pouting.

"But _I_ didn't know that! Anyway, that left _me_ to carry my drunk, good-for-nothing commanding officer over my shoulder through the flames! And he was _butt-naked_, too! So you can imagine how that went down with the rest of the guys in my squad! _Argh!_ If I knew where any clothes were in that place, I would have risked burning up to throw a pair of trousers on him!"

"Too bad he wasn't awarded a medal for valor!" John noted, trying and failing to keep a straight face. "I mean, Clarky _did_ save lives that day!"

"How did _you_ know about this, John?" Lestrade asked, looking at John curiously.

"The night we went to Mycroft's estate for the first time, when we learned Sherlock was still alive and was after Moriarty. Mycroft mentioned it in front of me." John shrugged, trying to give an impression of casualness.

"Lucky's creepy government brother never could keep his mouth shut!" Clarky grumbled.

"Clarky, I cannot believe this! You, the _redneck_, are actually related to someone like Irene Adler! _The Woman!"_ Hopkins spoke up, his mouth stretched into an almost-impossible expression of glee.

John, for his part, did _not_ have trouble believing that the two were related. Having seen Irene and Clarky in the same room together, he was able to observe that there was some resemblance between the two. They both had the same eye color, in any case. An unusual jade-like green with lighter specks. And they had similar facial features, although Clarky's six-foot tall build definitely gave everyone the impression of someone who probably played rugby on the weekends, while Irene's shorter build was distinctly more feminine and curvy than that of her cousin.

Plus, they were both clever, although Clarky had much more success at hiding his intelligence than Irene did.

And then there was the fact that Irene and Clarky were two of the craziest people that John had ever met!

_Excluding anyone whose last name was "Holmes," of course!_

"Stop bothering my cousin, Inspector Hopkins." Irene said. Her tone was cool, but her eyes glistened with amusement. "Or I may _force_ you!"

"_NO!_" Clarky shouted. "Irene, you _promised_ me you would stop doing your _business _with my friends! Remember? And that includes any form of punishment that may or may not be covered by the Geneva Convention!"

"Sherlock is your _friend?_" Irene asked, arching one eyebrow to look at Clarky curiously.

Clarky frowned as he rubbed his hand through his hair. "Well, _I_ consider him to be a friend, but he probably doesn't consider me to be one of his. A colleague, perhaps. Not really sure. I guess I need to ask him."

John frowned as he considered Clarky's statement.

_What was Clarky to Sherlock, anyway?_

Outwardly, Clarky would probably be the _last_ person anyone would expect to be on good terms with Sherlock. Whereas Sherlock was posh, aloof, and sullen at times, Clarky was causal, friendly, and always strove to see the humor in all situations.

In fact, Clarky was the polar opposite of Sherlock.

Nevertheless, Clarky made it abundantly clear that he _liked_ Sherlock, and put up with his antics with a jovial and forgiving attitude. And he was probably the only person in the room who didn't think it strange that a man would have human body parts in the fridge. So Clarky was far more accepting of Sherlock's ways than the other Yarders.

Of course, _Sherlock_ had changed some since the hiatus (a polite term for the eighteen months that he was pretending to be dead while taking out Moriarty's empire), even if it wasn't apparent to everyone. He was still relatively aloof and insensitive to most people. He would still conduct experiments, go out of his way to drive his brother to the point of insanity, and sometimes even caused minor property damage.

But there _were_ differences.

* * *

"But that's not the point! Why the hell are you shacking up at Lucky's place anyway?!" Clarky demanded, abruptly interrupting John's thoughts and bringing him back to the present.

"I'm not _shacking_ up here, Clarky!" Irene complained, raising her chin haughtly. "I was _attacked!_ I escaped, and Sherlock found me! End of story!"

"That doesn't explain why you are _sleeping _in his bed_,_ Irene!" Clarky shot back. "So what is going on? How do you know Lucky? And if you say he is a _client_…"

"Irene was part of a case that Sherlock and I took part of some time ago." John explained. "She also helped Sherlock several times when he was hiding from Moriarty's web."

"But why are you here?" Donovan persisted. "Why not go to Clarky?"

"That's what _I_ would like to know!" Clarky said irritably before turning back to Irene. "Irene, we already went through this! I don't care if people know if we are related or not! I'm personally _proud_ that you are my cousin! Now, I don't approve of some of your life choices, of course, but that don't mean I don't care for you! Besides, I don't approve of half the life choices _I_ have made! And you know the rest of the family feels the same way!"

"_Your_ family, Clarky. Not mine." Irene muttered darkly. "My father's side of the family have made it very clear that they would rather die than acknowledge my existence."

"That's because they are a bunch of bastards! Besides, you can't shame your American relatives! We do that on our own!" Clarky answered back slyly.

"It's true, Ms. Adler." Hopkins chimed in. "Clarky's reputation can't get any lower. We all work with him! We _know!_ If anything, knowing he's related to you will probably _improve _his image!"

Clarky smirked in Hopkin's direction before turning back to the injured woman. "Why didn't you just call and ask me to pick you up at the airport, Renie?" Clarky said, his expression warring between irritation and concern.

"I have _enemies_, Clarky." Irene said, her stern expression softening. "Enemies that would do anything to make sure that I was truly six feet under! What would happen if they discovered you are related to me, and went after you and your fiancé?"

Clarky slapped his hand on his thigh. "We are _family_, Irene! Families _protect_ each other!"

Irene sighed. For the first time since this entire conversation began, she looked troubled.

However, Clarky didn't let up on his demands. "So, Renie? Why don't you tell me who did this to you, so I can form a posse and go after the bastards?"

"Uh, _what?!_" Lestrade choked out.

Clarky ignored Lestrade's comment. "Now, tell us everything you know about them! I'm sure my co-workers here will help! It will give us an excuse to bond, anyway!"

"And what, pray tell, is a _posse_?" Anderson asked.

"A posse is a group of concerned citizens who preform justice! Basically, you guys help me find them, and then casually walk away while I beat them to an inch of their lives!" Clarky explained calmly.

"_What!?"_ Anderson squeaked.

Clarky shrugged. "Oh, don't worry, Sil! It's not like we go after them unarmed! Besides, I will let you borrow one of my guns!"

Lestrade cleared his throat nervously. "I don't think we are _allowed_ to do that, Clarky."

"_I'm in!_" Hopkins piped up cheerfully, raising his hand to volunteer. "I can guard Ms. Adler while you head up your mob or posse or whatever it is, Clarky!"

"Either that or she will guard _you_, Stanley!" Clarky replied dryly.

"_No one_ deserves to be attacked." Donovan interjected softly, her gaze lingering on the healing bruises that marred Irene's profile. "Tell us who they are. The Met will make sure that the perpetrators are brought to justice. The _legal way_, of course!"

"But that's the problem! I don't know who they are! And even assuming that anyone finds them, what do I do when they goes to trial? Do I appear on the stand and testify against them?" Irene laughed humorlessly at the idea. "I can't even fill out a complaint! The minute I do so, the rest of my enemies will know I'm alive, and will hunt me down!"

"Irene's former career was rough." Clarky agreed stoically. "She ended up dealing with the wrong people, and got in over her head! Hell, at one point she almost _lost_ her head!"

"_What!?_" Lestrade asked, bewildered.

Clarky nodded sagely. "Yep! Happened when Irene was trying to hide in the Middle East of all places, which was when she faked her death, by the way. Although it came very close to actually happening! If it wasn't for some British gent who took a liking to her and rescued her from the Taliban…"

Clarky's voice failed him as he trailed off. His green eyes widened as he realized something important. "_Holy shit!_ Are you telling me that _Lucky_ is the CSI guy!?"

"_CSI?_" Lestrade asked, his face twisted in confusion.

"The guy who saved her! Irene, was that _Lucky!?_" Clarky gasped.

Irene laughed and nodded her head in assent.

"Oh, _dammit_, Irene!" Clarky grumbled as he folded his arms across his chest and sulked.

"Wait! You said Sherlock was _CSI?_ Surely you don't mean '_Crime Scene Unit?_'" Anderson interrupted, looking more and more confused.

Clarky shook his head, disgruntled. "Hardly! _CSI_ is just Irene's creative idea for a nickname! _Argh!_ Now I won't be able to look at Lucky the same way again! I am going to need to dip my brain in bleach or something!"

"But why _CSI?_ Why would you call Sherlock that?" John asked.

Irene smirked. "It stands for '_cute, sexy, and irresistible!'_"

* * *

**Author's Note: Poor Sherlock! However will he show his face at the Yard again?**

**So what happens next? Will Lestrade and John give Sherlock "the TALK" (although they are a bit late, considering Sheridan's existence)? Will Clarky ever be able to be in the same room with Sherlock without thinking about Sherlock's relationship with Irene? Will Hopkins, Donovan, and Anderson be emotionally scarred for life?**

**Find out next time!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. Or the Woman (sorry Hopkins!). ****Or CSI. Regardless of what Irene thinks it stands for!**

**Irene Adler**-"Dare I ask why you are chained up to your chair, Peaceful Defender? Don't tell me you are giving up your practice for a career as a dominatrix."

**Peaceful Defender (grimacing)-"**I sincerely doubt that. Why? Do you think I should give up law and become one?"

**Irene Adler**-"Is there any point to that? I mean, we both like to punish people! Just in different ways!"

**Peaceful Defender**-"True enough. Actually, I am being forced to write down drabbles for the 'Meaning of Sacrifice' universe until a certain number of reviews are received or until I die. Whichever comes first.

**Irene Adler**-"Hmm. Well...that's a first!"

**Peaceful Defender**-"I know! Who would have thought that my characters would do this to me!? I mean, yes, I will admit it! I do write some of these drabbles when I am in court, and I am hard-pressed to keep my expression serious sometimes. I mean, can you imagine if I start giggling during a hearing involving a murder or something?"

**Sherlock Holmes**-"It could be worse. You could be caught giggling at a crime scene."

**Peaceful Defender**-"True. Maybe a review or two will cheer me up. Hopefully, someone out there will take the time to review. At least, I hope so."


	9. Family Ties-Part 4

**The Consequences of Sacrifice: Family Secrets (Part 4)**

* * *

**This is the last part of this drabble series. As always, I hope it makes you laugh or at least brings a smile to your face.**

**Warning: Some suggestive language and slight cursing. Nothing major!**

* * *

_Previously..._

_"But why CSI? Why would you call Sherlock that?" John asked._

_Irene smirked. "It stands for 'cute, sexy, and irresistible!'"_

* * *

The reactions of the people in the room were as varied as the colors of the rainbow.

Detective Inspector Lestrade sunk lower onto the leather couch, with his head lowered into his hands. Because his expression was hidden, it was impossible to tell if the noises issuing from him were muffled laughter or despairing groans.

Detective Inspector Hopkins, on the other hand, was easier to read. He fell down onto the floor, holding his sides as he laughed loudly.

Sergeant Donovan tried to discretely hide her amused expression by covering her mouth with her hand, but her high-pitched giggles gave her away.

John rubbed the bridge of his nose with one hand as he engaged himself with an internal mental debate of whether or not he should post this latest incident on his blog. And if he did, he wondered if he would suffer any copy-right infringement by giving his blog the title of _"CSI."_

Clarky sighed and shook his head, his expression warring between irritation and amusement as he eyed Irene.

Irene sipped her tea in silent repose, her expression completely neutral. However, the amused glistening in her eyes indicated that she was enjoying herself emmencely.

No one could ascertain Anderson's exact views on the matter.

At least, they couldn't ask him directly.

No sooner did the words "_cute, sexy, and irresistible_" come out of Irene's mouth before Anderson turned an unnatural shade of green and raced to the bathroom, where he was presumably engaged in an in-depth conversation with the proceline toilet. In between his miserable retching, everyone could hear Anderson mumbling about "_freak spawn_" and how "_we are all doomed!_"

As usual, everyone ignored Anderson.

"Irene, there was no need for that!" Clarky finally said after a few minutes, nodding his head in the direction of the bathroom. "Shaggy seems to have a thing against Lucky having children…"

"STOP CALLING ME SHAGGY!" Anderson yelled from the bathroom.

His shouted command just earned another round of laughter from the other Yarders.

Clarky cocked his eyebrow in surprise. "Seems that there is nothing wrong with his hearing, at least. But _seriously_, Irene, he gets all bent-out-of-shape every time someone mentions Lucky having kids! Can't figure out why!"

"After all, Sherlock is such a _warm, friendly person!_" Lestrade muttered, his expression still hidden. It was obvious to everyone that he was being sarcastic, but Clarky, oblivious as ever, seemed to have missed the point.

"That's true, Greg. Now, Anderson's a good guy! A bit of a stickler when it comes to procedure, but he's good at his job! And once you get to know him and he loosens up, he isn't that bad! But it seems to me that he has this huge problem with Lucky reproducing! I mean, Sheri is Lucky's kid, and she's alright!"

"The girl shot a notorious sniper in the arse last year!" Hopkins hiccupped from his reclined position on the floor. He held up two fingers on his right hand. "_Twice!"_

"And she saved me and John from certain death!" Clarky pointed out smugly. He looked back at Irene and smiled playfully. "If _anyone_ should be banned from having kids, it should be Irene here!"

"Says the man who lit my hair on fire when I was seven!" Irene smirked.

Clarky threw up his hands in exasperation. "I can't _believe_ you still remember that! And it wasn't like I put a match to your braids or anything! I cut your pigtails off before I lit them up! You can't deny that!"

"Dare I ask?" Hopkins gasped from his position on the floor.

"Clarky was testing the flammability of hairspray, so he cut off my braids and sprayed one with Grandmother Lily's hairspray before putting a lit match to them both." Irene informed the group helpfully.

Clarky rolled his eyes in annoyance. "It was for an _experiment!_"

John's eyes almost fell out of their sockets, and Lestrade jerked his head up at the familiar expression. Although said expression was usually spoken with a British accent, and not with Clarky's up-and-down American lithe.

"_Bloody hell!_ Clarky is the Americanized version of _Sherlock!_" Hopkins squeaked as he collapsed into hysterical giggling. "Either that or he is Sherlock's crazy lab assistant, like _Igor_, or something!"

Clarky immediately hunched over in his seat, raising his left shoulder higher than his right shoulder. He squinted his eyes and twisted his face into a lopsided smirk. "Yesssss, massster! I sssshall go find sssssome more cadaversssss, massster!"

John laughed at Clarky's impromptu version of the poor hunchback often featured on the parodied spoofs of "Frankenstein."

"Remind me again _why_ we are doing a drug raid on just Sherlock's home!" Donovan giggled as she looked at her boss. "Explain to me why we haven't done one on _Clarky's _flat yet!"

"After today, I plan on making it a priority!" Lestrade said. His expression was stern, but his tone suggested that he _might_ be joking. "But what I would like to know is why those men attacked you in the first place. What were they after?"

Irene sighed as she huddled back in her chair. "I can't be sure why I was attacked, but I suspect it has to do with my new job."

"_What new job?!"_ Clarky asked, bewildered.

Irene smiled proudly. "Well, let's just say I am leaving retirement, Clarky. Oh, don't freak out! I don't mean that I will be doing the same type of work again…"

"_Damn!_" Hopkins muttered under his breath, looking quite chest-fallen.

Clarky shot Hopkins a glare before turning back to Irene. "So, what _do_ you mean?"

Irene straightened herself in her chair with an air of pride. "After Moriarty died…well, the _second time_ around, other groups have been emerging, trying to capitalize on Moriarty's collapse. Some of them are becoming a problem. I was contacted by some interested parties who asked for my help, and I decided to join them."

"So you are, what? A secret agent?" Donovan asked.

Irene shook her head. "Nothing as simple as that. But I had dealings with Moriarty before, as well as some powerful men. If any of them succeed in amassing the wealth and resources that Moriarty had, then we will have another threat to deal with. And I went through too much to live through another Moriarty! Or someone like him!"

"_No!"_ Clarky growled, jumping up from his chair. "No, no, no, _no!_ I _refuse_ to let you do this, Renie! Forget it!"

"I don't have a choice anymore, Edward!" Irene shouted, then hissed as she grabbed her left side. John immediately shot up from his chair and knelt toward the injured woman, who weakly batted his hand away.

"I'm fine, John." Irene huffed. "I swear! Focus on Edward before he has a bloody heart attack!"

"You're as bad as Sherlock! Now stop fighting me and let me do my job!" John retorted.

"Renie, please." Clarky spoke up, instantly calming down at the sight of his family member wincing in pain. "John's a good doctor. He knows what he's doing."

Irene pouted, but grudgingly allowed John to check her over before he finally returned to his chair, statisfied that his patient was not killing herself, accidentally or otherwise.

"Why are you telling us all of this, anyway?" Hopkins spoke up. "I mean, isn't all of this supposed to be top-secret or something?"

Irene smirked. "Do any of you plan on telling any criminals about me?"

The following silence was answer enough.

Clarky just shrugged. "So I take it that Lucky is probably talking to his creepy government brother to get you protection, am I right?"

"Correction, Clarky. I have already talked to Mycroft."

* * *

Everyone turned around to the open doorway, caught completely unaware that they were being observed.

Sherlock Holmes was standing there in his Belstaff coat and navy scarf, arms crossed over his chest in a nonchalant manner. He looked over at the Yarders and finally locked his gaze on Lestrade.

"I deduce that you are all taking a respite from looking for my _non-existent drug stash_, Inspector." Sherlock replied, sarcasm evident in his tone. "And you also saw fit to meddle in affairs that do not concern you."

"Good to see you too, Sherlock! Or should I call you _CSI?_" Lestrade asked innocently.

Donovan's high pitched cackle escaped before she had a chance to clap her hands over her mouth. Meanwhile, the sound of Anderson being sick again filtered from the bathroom.

Clarky glanced down the hall with a sympathetic expression. "I never heard of someone throwing up so much without drinking before! Too bad poor Sil got the buffet for lunch today!"

Sherlock sighed, looking disgusted, as he turned to John. "I thought I made it clear that you were to guard the flat from intruders."

"Oh, brilliant! We are _intruders_ now!" Hopkins mumbled sarcastically.

John held up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "How do I keep them away, Sherlock? Besides, this is _your_ fault! You _know_ they do this every time you lift evidence!"

Sherlock scowled. "I have not lifted any evidence!"

"Then where is the gun from the Roberts case?" Lestrade asked pointedly.

"The Roberts case? You mean that dull murder that occurred near Fleet Street? The one where the wife obviously did it? At least, obvious to anyone with a functional frontal lobe…"

"So you _don't_ have the gun?" Donovan interrupted, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully as she studied Sherlock's expression.

"_No!_" Sherlock protested. "Nor have I ever felt the slightest desire to involve myself in the Roberts case!"

"That's too bad." Clarky mused. "Now I actually feel guilty for helping to raid your flat."

"Bloody hell, Clarky! You practically _jumped_ at the chance to be a part of this 'raid!'" Hopkins protested.

"Only because I was curious as to what Lucky was experimenting on!" Clarky defended. He then turned back to Sherlock. "By the way, what's with the two hands in the fridge?"

"An experiment in how waterproofing cement affects the rate of decay." Sherlock replied dismissively.

"_Oh!_ So you are investigating the Surrey case! I was wondering why one hand was covered with gray stuff! Listen, will you let me know what happens with that? I may need to conduct a similar experiment soon on one of my cases, only this time the killer buried the victim in industrial waste product, and…"

"_Oi!_ Body Farm people!" Hopkins protested, turning a faint shade of green. "Please stop, or _I'll_ get sick! And since the bathroom is already occupied…"

John sighed. "I'll get the bucket from the broom closet. Because I refuse to have anyone vomiting on this rug! Mrs. Hudson just had it cleaned last week, and I want to enjoy it before Sherlock spills obnoxious smelling chemicals all over it!"

Sherlock looked over at John and smirked.

"Well, if _you_ didn't take the gun, then who did?" Donovan challenged the consulting detective. "And if I find you have been lying to us, Freak…"

"I would deduce that your culprit is Detective Inspector Gregson." Sherlock said calmly as he went into the kitchen. "And I do hope none of you disturbed my sock index. It would be most tedious to organize it again."

"No one touched your stupid sock index, Freak!" Donovan shot back. "And why would Gregson take the gun?"

"It probably has something to do with the search warrant he was obtaining to gather evidence from the Roberts home." Sherlock said smugly. "Which is why he and Dimmock are over there right now."

"How do you know that?" Hopkins squeaked.

"I have my ways." Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly. "I was delivering the two men who attacked Irene to the Yard…"

"So you _did_ find them!" Clarky grinned wickedly. "I hope you didn't beat them up _too _badly, Lucky, because _I _want to teach them a lesson!"

"You didn't _hurt _them, right?" Lestrade asked hesistantly.

Sherlock shrugged. "Well, it depends on your definition of _hurt._ Technically, they are physically uninjured…"

"_But?_" John probed warily.

"Well, let's just say that Inspector Dimmock was surprised at how readily the two men took the keys to the holding cells from him and locked themselves in." Sherlock said, a self-satisfied smile gracing his features. "Although they were a bit dense, as they kept referring to me as a psychopath, no matter how many times I corrected them that I was actually a high-functioning sociopath."

"Bloody hell, Sherlock! What did you _do!?_" Hopkins gaped.

"Everyone always assumes that _I_ have done something." Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance. He turned his icy eyes towards Irene, who continued to sit quietly in his chair. "And _you_ are supposed to stay out of sight!"

"And miss the opportunity to catch up with my _family?_ Really, Sherlock! How can you be so heartless as to suggest such a thing?" Irene replied back smugly. "Besides, you know how important _family_ is!"

"Lucky, did you know that Irene was my cousin?" Clarky suddenly interrupted, looking at Sherlock quizzically.

"Of course. It's rather obvious, is it not?" Sherlock responded, looking bored.

"Is that a _problem_, Clarky?" Irene giggled as she looked at her cousin. "Surely you don't feel as though I need _protection_ or anything. Right?"

Clarky glanced at Irene and shuddered. "Renie, I grew up with you, remember? Ever sense we were kids and we spent the summers at Grandma Lilly's house. You have always been able to take care of yourself. Actually, Lucky may need protection from you!"

Sherlock huffed, indigent, while Irene smirked like the proverbial cat who ate the cream.

Clarky rolled his eyes in dismay, and then turned back to Sherlock. "Lucky, do yourself a favor and run for the hills!" Clarky interjected helpfully. "Renie is not exactly a _lady_, if you know what I mean. Trust me! She's all sweet and innocent one minute, then she will drug you the minute your back is turned!"

"_Too_ _late!_" John said to no one in particular as he ducked his head to take a sip of his tea.

Sherlock gave John a look that probably would have vaporized paint on contact. "Your warning is duly noted, Clarky. However, if Irene decided to be truthful, she would admit freely that I am her intellectual superior!"

Irene scoffed. "That's not what I remember!"

"Enough!" Lestrade broke in. "I don't need to know!"

"You needn't be so embarassed, Lestrade. Despite what you may be thinking, Ms. Adler and I are not discussing anything of an intimate nature. So kindly get your sub-pair mind out of the provential gutter!"

"And _this_ is what we get for coming to the Freak's home!" Donovan snickered.

"It is what you deserve for conducting fraudulent drug busts." Sherlock retorted dryly before turning his attention back to Irene. "You will be relieved to know that the two men who attacked you did not know who you were. You were a random victim of a mugging, nothing more."

"I don't know whether to be relieved by that or insulted that two low-life criminals managed to sneak up on me without my knowledge." Irene muttered softly, taking a sip of her tea contemplatively.

"I would go with relief, Renie." Clarky spoke up. "That means those bad guys probably don't know you are still alive. It's a good thing!"

"True, but now your friends know." Irene nodded to the Yarders, who looked confused. "I don't suppose they can keep a secret, can they?"

"Like anyone will believe us!" Anderson croaked out as he stumbled back into the sitting room, looking distinctly pale as he did a good impression of a newborn foul. "The Freak managing to get a girlfriend!"

"I think Ms. Adler is asking for your discretion in keeping her existence a secret." Sherlock spoke up as he sent a glare in Anderson's direction. "As she has no doubt told you, she has enemies that will pay dearly to see her killed. There is no reason for any of you to mention her existence to anyone."

"And if we do, you will sic your brother on us." Lestrade grumbled as he sat up from the couch. "Well,_ I_ for one have no interest in pursuing the matter further. I think I have heard enough details for a lifetime!"

"Not me!" Hopkins snickered. He turned back to Irene with a gleeful expression on his face. "Imagine what type of blackmail she has on Sherlock and Clarky!"

"_And_ on that note, we will be heading out!" Donovan said loudly, yanking Hopkins off the floor quickly. "Ms. Adler, it was nice to meet you. I am sorry what happened to you, and even sorrier that you are related to Clarky and are friends with Sherlock. I wish you the best of luck."

"But I'm not through yet!" Hopkins cried out.

"Yes you are!" Lestrade grimaced. "I don't want to find out anything else about Sherlock and Ms. Adler, if you don't mind! Or anything to do with Clarky carrying naked men around!"

"But I'm not _gay!"_ Clarky whined.

Sherlock and John shared a knowing smirk before Sherlock stepped away from the door and waved his hand in a sweeping gesture as Donovan dragged a protesting Hopkins out by the lapels of his coat.

"Come on, Clarky! You can catch up with Ms. Adler later. But now we got to get back to the Yard." Lestrade said as he helped a stumbling and slightly green Anderson towards the door.

"Yeah, yeah! I'm coming!" Clarky grumbled as he got out of his chair. "And Lucky, I need you to get me in contact with your creepy government brother! Someone needs to lock Irene up before she gets herself hurt!"

"But Mycroft was the one who _hired_ me!" Irene replied evenly. "It was his idea for me to go undercover! Something about doing it for 'God and Country' and all of that patriotic talk!"

Clarky's mouth hung open for exactly ten seconds before he finally closed it and turned back to Sherlock.

"Lucky…how do you feel about becoming an only child?"

Sherlock's answering smile was practically radiant as he rushed to the desk and began fumbling around for a pin. "He's currently at the Diogenes Club. Here, let me write down the address for you..."

"Fraticide is a crime, Sherlock!" John protested. "You can't use Clarky to kill your brother!"

"I won't _kill_ Lucky's creepy government brother, John!" Clarky's answering smile was sinister on his usually handsome features. "I'm just going to have a _pleasant chat_ with him, that's all!"

"Says the man with an unknown number of firearms at his disposal." John pointed out.

"You make me sound dangerous, John. Besides, only southern rednecks handle their problems with guns!"

"But you _are_ a southern redneck, Clarky! You remind us all about that on a daily basis! Bloody hell, I never even heard of the term 'southern redneck' until you came!"

Clarky frowned as he considered that. "I...good point!"

"Clarky, as much as I would love to prolong this conversation, I do believe you have an appointment to keep with my dear brother, to remind him as to why Britain abandoned its colonies all those years ago." Sherlock said pointedly.

"Real subtle, Sherlock." John muttered under his breath. "No wonder Irene thinks you are _'Cute, Sexy, and Irristable!'"_

Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance. "I prefer to think of it as _'Can't Stand Idiots._' And since my brother is being idiotic right now, it is only fair that I do the honorable thing and allow Clarky to express his views to my brother. It is only right, as Clarky is Irene's closest living male relative, and thus is duty bound to protect her."

"Since when do you care about 'duty' and 'honor?'" John huffed.

"Since it helps him annoy his brother, that's why." Clarky answered, taking the address from Sherlock. "And personally, I don't mind in the least. There ain't nobody, and I do mean nobody, that makes our family do something that they don't want to do!"

"Clarky, were you even _listening!?"_ Irene protested. "I _want_ to do this! If I can help to ensure that another Moriarty doesn't show up, then I want to do everything in my power to do so! And you can't stop me!"

"I know that!" Clarky said. "Hell, Irene! You have always done what you wanted, and there is no stopping you when you do! So I am not even going to try! But Lucky's creepy government brother better understand something! He better do everything possible to keep you safe, or there is no power on Earth that will stop me from taking it out of his hide!"

And with that, the American rushed out of the flat, no doubt preparing to confront Mycroft in person.

* * *

**The Personal Blog of John Watson**

**August 30**

**6:19 p.m.**

To my ever-patient readers, it has been a few days since I have updated my blog, and I am only now having the chance to write about.

Earlier this week, a former acquaintance of Sherlock's had dropped by. She had been attacked by two unidentified men, and was in fear for her life. However, due to circumstances beyond her control, she was unable to go to the local authorities.

Sherlock took her case, of course, and managed to locate the men. But that wasn't the most exciting part of the case.

You see, the detectives at the Yard dropped by to locate some missing evidence that they believed that Sherlock might have borrowed (he didn't, by the way). While they were here, we learned that Clarky, the transfer from America, was actually related to Sherlock's client.

By the way, did I forget to mention that Sherlock's client, like so many hopeless romantics out there, actually has a crush on Sherlock?

Anyway, things got a little uncomfortable. Especially after the client revealed that she privately refers to Sherlock as "CSI," which stands for "Cute, Sexy, and Irresistible."

Personally, I don't see it. And neither did Sherlock, who felt that CSI should stand for "Can't Stand Idiots."

But I decided to post the question to you, my wonderful readers, and get your opinion as to what CSI should stand for.

* * *

**Greg Lestrade (posted 6:27)**

How about "Common Sense Impaired?"

**John Watson (posted 6:29)**

Ha ha! Good one!

**Stanley Hopkins (posted 6:32)**

Actually, CSI stands for "Cadaver Sniffing Investigator." After all, what else can you expect from someone who worked at the Body Farm? And to the mysterious acquaintance, when are you going to dump Sherlock and try someone new? Like me ;)

**Edward Clarkson IV "Clarky" (posted 6:35)**

Stanley! You. Are. Going. To. Die!

**Sally Donovan (6:37)**

You better run, Stanley!

**Stanley Hopkins (posted 6:38)**

Why are you so upset, Clarky? You are from the USA, right? The Land of the Free and whatever else you Americans say? Well, she is free to date me!

**Silvia Anderson (posted 6:40)**

I agree with Sally. Clarky would kill you in a battle to the death, Stan. And by the way, CSI stands "Certifiably Sociopathic and Insane!"

**Sherlock Holmes (posted 6:41)**

How long have we known each other, Anderson? Five years, eight months, and twelve days? And it has taken you that long to learn the difference between a psychopath and a sociopath?

Maybe you are not the complete idiot I have always believed you to be.

**John Watson (posted 6:42)**

Play nice, children!

**Sally Donovan (posted 6:43)**

Oh, I got one! "Client Satisfaction Index!"

**Gregory Lestrade (posted 6:44)**

Dare I ask? Client satisfaction for what!?

**Sally Donovan (posted 6:45)**

Oh, whatever the Freak decides! Use your imagination! ;D

**Sherlock Holmes (posted 6:47)**

John, what does Sally mean? All of my clients are satisfied with the results that I get for them.

**Gregory Lestrade (posted 6:48)**

There are just so many things wrong with that statement, Sherlock! Oh, great! Now Anderson's throwing up again! Good job!

**Sherlock Holmes (posted 6:49)**

Thank you, Lestrade.

**John Watson (posted 6:50)**

He's being sarcastic, Sherlock!

**Sherlock Holmes (posted 6:52)**

Oh!

**Mycroft Holmes (posted 6:53)**

Ah, Sherlock! I just wanted to thank you for sending the esteemed Dr. Clarkson to the Diogenes Club this afternoon.

**Sherlock Holmes (posted 6:55)**

John? Is Mycroft being sarcastic?

**John Watson (posted 6:56)**

Yes, Sherlock.

**Edward Clarkson IV "Clarky" (posted 6:57)**

Oh, grow up, Mr. Holmes! I didn't know that there was a ban on anyone speaking there! Would it kill your little membership group to post a sign near the door!? And Lucky, why didn't you warn me!? A couple of men tried to grab me outside, but I didn't know who they were. I gave one a black eye and the other one a broken nose!

**John Watson (posted 6:58)**

You did!? Great job!

**Sherlock Holmes (posted 6:59)**

I concur, Clarky. But did the meeting with my brother go well?

**Mycroft Holmes (posted 7:01)**

As well as can be expected, brother dear. Dr. Clarkson has be apprised of all the security measures to keep [DELETED FOR PURPOSES OF NATIONAL SECURITY] from undue harm.

**Edward Clarkson IV "Clarky" (posted 7:03)**

Yeah, don't worry Lucky. I didn't kill your brother. If I did, then we would have to be in a feud, and I don't think [DELETED FOR PURPOSES OF NATIONAL SECURITY] would forgive me if I had to shoot you.

**John Watson (posted 7:04)**

But what if Sherlock was ok with you killing his brother?

**Edward Clarkson IV "Clarky" (posted 7:06)**

Doesn't matter. He would still be duty-bound to revenge his brother's death, and I would be duty-bound to protect my life.

**Sherlock Holmes (posted 7:09)**

It is one of those ridiculous rules that they follow in the American South, John. Or so I have been told during my brief sojourn there. Try not to think about it too much. If I can't figure out with my vastly superior intellect, then you don't have a chance.

**Sally Donovan (posted 7:10)**

Ooooh! Get him, John!

**Stanley Hopkins (posted 7:13)**

Yeah, John! Kill Sherlock! That way I get a chance with you-know-who! :D

**Edward Clarkson IV "Clarky" (posted 7:14)**

For the last time, everyone stay away from [DELETED FOR PURPOSES OF NATIONAL SECURITY]. You have no idea what she is capable of! Trust me on this! I know!

**[DELETED FOR PURPOSES OF NATIONAL SECURITY] (posted 7:16)**

Good luck with that, Clarky. But I am my own woman, and I can take care of myself.

**Sherlock Holmes (posted 7:17)**

Oh, Clarky? I deduce you are currently looking for Hopkins right now, as he is currently in the same building as you. If you still wish to speak to him, he is currently hiding in Lestrade's office.

**Stanley Hopkins (posted 7:19)**

You bastard!

**Sherlock Holmes (posted 7:21)**

I assure you, Hopkins, that my family can be traced back nine generations.

**John Watson (posted 7:22)**

That's not what he means, Sherlock.

**Sherlock Holmes (posted 7:23)**

Not good?

**John Watson (posted 7:24)**

A bit not good, yeah.

* * *

**Author's Note: And that is the final part of this drabble "Family Secrets." I hope you liked it!**

**By the way, does anyone have any ideas that they want me to write about? My muse has went on holiday, and I could really use some inspiration to keep me sane, as "Sherlock" probably won't air for awhile. If anyone has any suggestions, please share!**

**Oh, and no commentary today. My OC Chase Douglas is temporarily out of commission due to a serious injury which he is going to blog about soon. Very likely it will be the subject of the next series of drabbles, but it depends on how quickly he recovers!**

**And a special thank you to the following people:**

**Scottish Bluebell and chaoticmom-the people who have taken the time to consistently review my story! Thank you so much!**

**chaoticmom, TheAngelandtheDevil97, paula. ,-for following my story!**

**TheAngelandtheDevil97, paula. ,-for favoriting my story! **

**And to the rest of you: I take this as a challenge. I will continue to write until you deem it fit that I deserve a review, reguardless of its content. **

**Thanks for reading!**


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